Storm Chasers
by TrebleMaker
Summary: Passing through for routine hunt, our favorite brothers are held up by a powerful storm. However, there's more than just mother nature at work and the boys are quickly plunged into Native American legend and a hunt like nothing they've taken on before.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural, any of the characters or the beautiful '67 Impala used on the set. What I wouldn't give to have that car...or either of the Winchesters...or both...

Also, this is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic. All comments, criticism and general input is greatly appreciated. This story takes places sometime after Metamorphosis (S4) and doesn't include much mention of Castiel or any of the other angels for that matter either. Otherwise, this story pretty much speaks for itself. Enjoy!

* * *

_Hawthorne, Nevada_

_One week ago…_

The obnoxious tone cut through the sounds of wind whipping past the sturdy house and June Buxley was there to take in the weather service announcement even as her husband attempted to drown it out with his snoring.

"…_a heavy wind advisory is in effect until 11:45pm for the following counties…"_

June's eyes were glued to the screen as the words slid soundlessly from right to left across the bottom of the glass. A small grimace crossed her features as Mineral County took its turn sprinting across the screen and her agitation flared. There were two things wrong with this situation. Firstly, Letterman was on, which meant the advisory had probably expired by now. Secondly, she didn't need national weather services interrupting her late night TV programming to tell her it was windy outside. She could've just turned the TV down a couple notches and heard the whistling for herself!

"Mom?"

The small voice of her 7 year old son interrupted her anger induced thoughts and had her checking the clock before she looked to his figure which was no more than a dark shadow standing in the open door of her bedroom. She was certain that he hadn't slept any since they had put him to bed almost 3 hours ago. The combination of wind, thunder and lightning had managed to keep her awake just past midnight, never mind her son who was afraid of the ferocity of nature.

As if to confirm her suspicions, a blue flash of lightning snuck its way under her window shades and illuminated her son's face for a fraction of a second. There was obvious drawn across his features; however, it was the thunder that crashed through the house instants later had her son jumping slightly and inching his way into her room. Even June caught herself jumping slightly at that sudden burst. The storm was definitely right overhead.

"Hey, Jack," she began, shifting blankets and sheets to make room in her bed for her son before continuing, "You okay, honey?"

She watched as Jack's hand disappeared into the shadow that was face. Although his figure was still just barely anything more than a shadow, June was slowly beginning to discern the familiar details of her son's face. She knew instinctively that he must be rubbing his eyes, probably in his attempts to rid the burning and stinging sensation that comes with sleep.

She smiled sadly at him as she patted the spot next to her. There had been an unusual amount of thunderstorms around this time of year meaning Jack had been losing precious sleep that was imperative to a growing boy his age.

Local meteorologists had said that all of this insane weather was normal - that Hawthorne was only following a cyclical weather pattern that seemed to repeat every 50 years or so. June watched as Jack's tiny form sidled towards her when another irritating tone issued forth from the TV and drew her attention back to the screen.

"_This is an emergency broadcast from the National Weather Service. A tornado sighting has been confirmed in Luning, Nevada. It was last seen heading west and…"_

Fear filled June at the mention of the word "tornado," but with the knowledge that the spiral of wind was spinning its way west and directly toward them, her fear had exploded into full out panic. She needed to get her family to safety. She needed to get them into the bunker in the backyard.

Jack was just pulling himself into the safety only a mother's bed can offer when June had made the executive decision that staying in the house, no matter how comfortable, was out of the question for the night. They were in danger.

"Jack, honey," she cooed as she pulled her son close to him, "Remember when we used to play that game where we'd run into that underground playhouse in the backyard?"

Jack giggled as his mother tickled him briefly to distract him from the onslaught of the storm. He nodded in confirmation, a smile seen on his face even as another bolt of lightning slipped in through the crack between the window shade and the window.

"Well, we're gonna play that game again tonight, okay?" she asked.

Almost immediately, the fear that had been siphoning away from Jack's face began to return. She chewed the inside of her lip nervously and watched, wishing that he was still his 5 year old self that didn't need to know about imminent danger. The rumble of thunder echoed through the room as her son squirmed away from her.

"The weather's getting really bad, right, mom?" asked Jack without so much as a quiver in his voice.

"Yea, sweetie," she said and kissed his forehead.

The 7 year old nodded, putting on a brave face as he hopped out of his parent's bed, made a declaration to save Buster, his favorite stuffed lion, and disappeared around the corner and into his bedroom.

June smiled a bit and placed her hand on her husband's shoulder to shake him awake. She didn't know how much time they had.

"Paul," she said softly, wanting to wake, but not frighten. Not yet at least.

She chuckled as his snoring paused in a short snort for a moment before his eyes fluttered open. She couldn't see the blue staring back at her, but she knew that there would be mild irritation shining in his oceanic orbs until he knows exactly why his beautiful wife was waking him 6 hours before his alarm was set to go off.

"Paul, they've spotted a tornado. We need to get out of the house."

Brows furrowed in confusion as Paul struggled to throw off sleep and process what his wife had said. He blinked a few more times before nodding his head and speaking.

"Alright, let's get the Buxley's outside."

The process went incredibly smooth and June prided herself in knowing that they had practiced for this. She glanced about as she crossed the threshold of her backyard. She could smell the dampness of the earth and feel the squishing of dirt and grass as she traipsed alongside her husband and son.

She shivered despite the warm sweatshirt as heavy rain drops fell on her shoulder and dripped from her short bob, landing cold drops on the back of her neck. She felt her husbands hand rub against her arm in reassurance and warmth and she allowed a smile to cross her face. So far, so good. They were only about 5 feet from their destination.

…and that's when it happened.

There was an enormous gust of wind - one that caused both parents to grip their son for fear of losing him. June shielded her face with her hand and glanced at the sky. She was utterly confused when she noted that the sky was still a deep brownish-crimson due to the onslaught of rain. If it had been the tornado, the sky would be the color of pea soup. Paul called something to his wife, but the words were lost in the rushing of cold air. However, it was Jack's scream and wild animation that grabbed both adults attention.

Jack pointed at the sight of two glowing red ovals that hovered up high in the night sky. A bolt of lightning had the child quaking and his parents frozen to the spot in complete shock. A massive birdlike creature was there, beating its wings fiercely against the rain. Its enormous wingspan was almost impossible to discern as its feathers nearly matched the color of the storm clouds in the night sky. However, it watched them with fascination just as the humans below it could only stare up in wonder and fear.

"Mom! What _is_ that?" cried the young boy, desperate to hear that he was dreaming - that the monster hovering before him didn't actually exist. He hugged Buster closer to him even as the stuffed lion dampened his face with the rain it was soaking in.

June's voice wouldn't cooperate and the only reassurance Jack received was a tight squeeze on his shoulder. Another flash of lightning and the gigantic creature turned, flying away from the petrified family.

Then, just as suddenly as the storm had come, it completely disappeared.

* * *

Rain rolled across the passenger side window, obscuring any signs of the sparse vegetation that Sam would have gladly used to distract himself from his fatigue. It was to the point that he couldn't even read to distract himself without the words blurring together from his tired eyes. They had been on the road for days in what Sam was now referring to as 'The Torch-athon'. Ever since Dean's return, he had been Hell bent on stopping as many demons, ghouls, ghosts and other supernatural beings from destroying innocent people as possible.

At first, Sam had taken to the perpetual motion with enthusiasm. He was thrilled at having his brother back, even if his brother was beyond furious with him for hanging out with a demon and developing his 'Jedi mind tricks'. Then again, Ruby hadn't exactly been thrilled to have one of the best hunters back in action either. They were at a standoff either way.

Sam really just wanted to get things as back to as normal as possible without losing Dean _or_ Ruby. He wasn't trying to replace his big brother. He knew no one could ever do that, but Ruby had been there for him and helped him trust in his own hunter's instincts. She had been there to watch his back when Dean couldn't be there. He couldn't just toss her away. He cared about her - loved her even.

Sam's eyes fluttered as sleep threatened to take hold once again. It was only as his head thumped uncomfortably against the window that Sam sat up and chanced a glance at his brother. Dean's eyes were focused on the road, but there was a smirk stuck on his lips that Sam didn't like. He knew right then and there that he was busted. Figured.

"Shut up, Dean," he mumbled as he stared straight ahead. The rain pelted the windshield with sudden intensity, but didn't interrupt the rhythm of the windshield blades that bordered on hypnotic.

Dean didn't say anything. He only continued to smirk, knowing that it would enrage his brother further than any jibe he could possible toss his way at the moment. Dean needed the distraction, the normalcy of everything that they used to have. He had been free from hell for only about a month now, but already, things between him and Sam were completely different.

Sam had grown and learned so much from the 4 months he had been gone and although it had made Dean's heart swell with brotherly pride, it had also absolutely terrified him. Sam's psychic thing had gone from headaches and premonitions to full blown demon exorcisms with a little concentration and a wave of his hand. He knew Sam thought he was using his abilities for good, but they were evil. …and that bitch of his wasn't any better either.

Dean chanced a glance at his baby brother and grinned mischievously when he saw that Sam had finally surrendered to his exhaustion against the passenger window. He kept his left hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road as he leaned over and reached his right hand carefully under the bench seat in front of Sam. His fingertips caught the edge of a cardboard box and, with a grin stuck to his face, Dean tugged it towards him.

Securing his plastic accomplice, Dean chanced one more look at his brother before slamming the Metallica cassette into the tape deck and turning the volume up to an indecent decibel.

Sam awoke with a jolt, his hair slightly ruffled and confusion plastered to his face. Dean's laughter cut through the haze in his mind and Sam realized, with sudden clarity, that Dean's favorite metal band was crooning away where there had once been silence.

"Seriously, Dean?"

Dean pursed his lips to keep his laughter in check, but the obvious bite to Sam's tone really made the entire situation that much funnier.

"What's that Sammy? I can't hear you!"

A flash of lightning momentarily blinded the younger Winchester as he tried to get his grumpiness is check. He should have known Dean would pull a stunt like this. Inwardly, Sam knew he would be laughing about this in the morning, but because Dean had woken him from sleep that he so desperately needed to recuperate, Sam was one grumpy Winchester. A devious smirk crossed his features and he began thinking of payback. He let his head fall against the cool glass window and wished he hadn't held back that whole cling-wrap-over-the-toilet idea in the last town. His prank-filled thoughts were interrupted, however, as a clap of thunder erupted over head accompanied by what must have been the sky's attempt to drown the world.

"Maybe we should think about pulling into the next town, Dean," said Sam as he turned the volume knob to the left in an effort to be heard over the music.

"Nah, we've driven through worse, Sammy boy!"

Almost as if on cue, another brilliant spark of lightening tore through the sky. Dean ducked a bit to look up at the sky just as the thunder decided to make its debut. He grimaced a bit at the storm, but decided to hold his ground on the issue.

"I'm pretty sure we haven't, Dean."

The brothers turned to each other with daggers in both of their eyes. However, the intense staring contest ended abruptly as Dean started laughing and turned back to the road.

"What?"

Dean tilted his head to the side thoughtfully as he spoke, "Nothing, Sam. Its just good to be back. To have this again, you know?"

Sam smiled and looked at Dean and immediately caught the smile in his eyes as he spoke. He was right. It was good to be back like this.

"Yea, it is," said Sam as he glanced out the window, "and I'd like to keep it that way, which is why we should pull into the next town. You know. So we don't die?"

Dean, much more awake now that James Hetfield was growling through the speakers, began to drum on the steering wheel with his fingers as Enter Sandman continued to assault both Winchester's eardrums. It felt good to be back into their old rhythm, but something was missing.

"Bitch."

That was better.

"Jerk," shot back Sam after a well placed huff off feigned annoyance. It was all part of the act. All part of what it meant to be brothers.

"WHOA!"

An intense flash of light lit up the sky, but it wasn't the lightning out the window that had startled Sam, nor was it the thunder that broke over head in immediate succession. It was the immense winged figure that tore through the air with glowing eyes and wings that were churning the air.

"Its only lightning, Sam. God, you're such a girl!"

"Dude, shut up! It wasn't the lightning."

Dean arched an eyebrow at Sam's protest, falling further and further into the older brother role that he had missed so much. He glanced at Sam from the corner of his eyes and watched bemusedly as Sam craned his neck to look at something out the window.

"Well, what was it, then _Samantha_?"

"I…I don't know," began Sam, ignoring the dig, "It was this huge… Bird. Thing. Red eyes. Definitely not normal."

A sudden gust of wind had Dean pulling at the wheel with both hands as it blew his baby into the other lane. The tires squealed against the wet asphalt as Dean coaxed the Impala back into the right lane where it belonged.

"Alright. Seriously, Dean, this is getting bad! Don't you think we should stop for the night?"

Dean was silent, stoic, and focused entirely on the road once again. He glanced to the right as they streaked past a wooden "Welcome to Hawthorne" sign that glistened as the car's headlights glinted off of it. The elder Winchester found himself increasing the wiper's speed as the rain continued its unrelenting attack on the windshield.

Dean sighed and relaxed into his seat a bit in thought. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe they did need to pull over for the night. The rain certainly didn't look like it was going to let up, but Dean also didn't want to pause. Pausing meant rest which led to thinking which caused horrific nightmares. He knew he could drink himself to sleep, because he had been ever since his return. However, all he really wanted was one night of nonalcoholic induced sleep free from dreams of Hell and all of its memories.

"Dean," Sam said, staring into the side of his brother's face hoping to elicit some kind of response. His brother had gotten very quiet all of a sudden and he didn't like the look on his usually stoic face.

Sam rolled his eyes, however, as Dean, never taking his eyes of the road, moved his right hand and adjusted the volume so that the little's boys whispered night time prayer sounded more like an overly loud, static riddled EVP being pumped through the speakers as the Metallica cassette continued. That wasn't exactly the kind of response he had been going for.

"Dean, can we please just…"

Another flash of lightning had Dean hollering in surprise while turning the Impala sharply to the left, sending the car skidding along the asphalt before it came to an abrupt halt that tossed both brother's slightly to the right.

"Dude!" shouted Sam, still holding onto the frame of the Impala for dear life.

Dean was panting and stringing together the details of what he had seen moments before. It was massive, at least two of his baby in wingspan alone. It definitely had feathers of some kind, but they matched the hazy brownish-red shade of the storm clouds outside. And its eyes! They glowed and they were definitely deep red.

Still panting from the sudden adrenaline rush, Dean turned to Sam, "Maybe you're right, Sammy. Maybe we should stay for the night to figure out what the hell _that thing_ was."

An uncharacteristically cocky grin fell across Sam's lips as he looked at Dean, making his older brother a little uncomfortable.

"What?" asked Dean, clearly confused.

Sam held his position for a moment, relishing in the discomfort of his brother as well as finally having the upper hand in the situation for once. He would remember and cherish this moment for as long as he lived.

"Who's the girl now?"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean grumbled as he put the car into gear and gently coaxed it down the road and to the nearest motel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural is the property of Mr. Kripke, but you already knew that.

Mild spoilers for some of S4 in this chapter, but with my take on how it might've happened. Enjoy!

* * *

The cheap motel was nothing out of the ordinary for the Winchesters. There were the questionable stains on the graying carpet, heavy with wear. The windows were surrounded by heavy green shades tattered and frayed at the ends from age. (Naturally they were pulled closed to keep the occupants of room 117 hidden from the outside world upon arrival.) There were two lumpy mattresses covered with thinning duvets and separated by a night stand complete with a phone, lamp and Bible. The only light source in the room came from the round glass dome attached to the ceiling. The room even wreaked of mildew and something reminiscent of an ancient basement filled with damp cardboard boxes, but somehow Dean had managed to fall asleep.

A soft smile lit up Sam's features as he rubbed the rough motel towel over his head to dry his hair on his way out of the bathroom. The sight of his brother - the "protector" and self proclaimed tough guy - looking so serene and relaxed…

…it was definitely blackmail worthy.

Sam padded over to his bed, tossing the towel towards the foot as he grabbed for his phone. He pressed the buttons quickly and accurately, eyes only half looking for any alerts for new texts and voicemails that he already knew wouldn't be there. No one other than Bobby or Dean ever called him, the latter of which calling rarely since they were usually right next to each other anyways.

Tongue hanging out of his mouth in concentration, Sam lifted his phone as nonchalantly as possible to take a picture of his brother.

"Don't even think about it, twinkle toes."

A chuckle left his lips to drown out the quick click of his phone as Sam took the damning picture anyways; Dean's eyes remained closed in spite of his threat and Sam hoped he wouldn't check his phone later. A soft thud echoed through the room as Sam put his phone containing the incriminating evidence back on the night table between the double beds and turned off the lamp.

"Thought you were sleeping," he said simply as he reclined on the bed, hands tucked comfortably behind his head. He kicked slightly at the bed cover and heavy blanket he had pulled down before the shower to give his long frame a little more room.

"Yea. Gathered that," was Dean's terse response.

Sam faintly registered the rustling noise associated with moving sheets and he knew Dean had just rolled over so that his back was to him. He was glad for the routine, even if it was only a farce of what it should be.

Sam had been relieved when Dean had, as usual, called dibs on the first shower, leaving Sam with just enough hot water to scrub off the few days worth of grime that had been clinging to him. Sam had even been grateful that Dean had taken the bed closest to the door, tossing his duffel bag full of clothes and assorted weapons on top of it in a proud declaration of ownership before stealing off into the bathroom.

Dean had, however, skipped over the routine of salting the doors and windows though. It was a necessity that Sam had grown accustomed to in his brother's absence; it was also the first time since "Torch-athon" had commenced that Sam had done it himself.

He knew Dean was hiding something from him. He could just feel it in his gut. However, Sam closed his eyes in contemplation only to drift away into pleasant sleep. Dean did the same soon after.

* * *

_Screams - anguished and pain-filled followed closely by the piercing shrieks of laughter. They burned his ears nearly as bad as the blade, still blindingly white with heat from the flame it came from, being twisted mercilessly in his gut by a demon that wouldn't divulge his name._

_He gasped raggedly, trying to take in any oxygen against the menacing blade trapped somewhere between his stomach and diaphragm. Sweat poured down his face, partly from pain, but mostly from the searing heat planted firmly in his gut._

_The barbed wire holding him in place tore at his back and legs as he trembled. He tilted his head back, immediately regretting the action as the dizziness associated with fatigue consumed him. His head lolled forward as his being ran towards unconsciousness. Even in this place, this pit with the damned rack, his only solace was that he had saved his brother. He had saved his Sammy._

_A scream tore from his lips as the demon withdrew the blade, now stained dark with his blood. He could feel the crimson liquid, hot and sticky, as it poured from his gut. His ashen face contorted as he felt the familiar warmth clawing its way through his belly and up his throat._

_He started coughing almost convulsively. The sanguine liquid that was quickly leaving his stomach was forcing its way up his throat with no where to go but out. Blood splattered the demon's face before him, but the creature's face wouldn't change from the grin of pure delight at the sight of his weakness - his utter despair._

"_Enjoying yourself yet?" he crooned as he drew another line with the blade against his victim's torso._

_Dean hissed, his eyes squeezing shut tight, lips in a snarl. He balled his hands and tore at the restraints only forcing the barbed wire that imprisoned him deeper into his flesh. A whimper escaped him and he felt completely helpless and defeated._

"_Sc-screw you," he choked out, causing another painful spasm in his chest. He could only close his eyes and cough as more of his blood dripped from his body and pooled around him on the floor._

_He had lost track of how long he had been down here - of how long the fires of his demise had been licking at his broken body and eating away at his soul. He wasn't entirely sure how he could even begin to count the days anymore. It was almost like reliving the Mystery Spot case over and over, but with much more agony and all of the memory._

_That was exactly how it worked here, though. They'd torture you with excruciating brutality, kill you and then revive you the next day - completely unscathed - only to face it all again. Some days passed unbelievably slow with cuts and slices that stung as the sweat and sulfur around you clung to the wetness of your blood. On those days, it was the blood loss that finally killed you. Other days, were meant to break you completely. Hammers and black iron maces would tear into your flesh, breaking nearly every bone in your body until the pain became all consuming and your heart finally gave out._

_Today, however, was a day with a point. It was a day with the purpose to completely break Dean Winchester._

"_You can make this end," said the demon with a tone reminiscent of mock pity, "all you have to do is take up the sword yourself."_

_Dean flinched as the blade was placed under his chin. His head was forced up to the ceiling, to the image the demon had conjured day after day of his mother's body burning as it had so many years ago._

_He felt the tears pricking his eyes only moments before they distorted his vision. Of course, that was when the screaming and pleading started - her voice in the last few minutes of her life with the family that she had loved so dearly. That was when the full force of her plight hit him with such ferocity that he could feel his soul beginning to crack._

"_Awww, a touching family reunion," sneered the demon, never removing his gaze from his victim's face._

_He could feel the shock registering in his system. Family reunion? No, it couldn't be his mother. She was an angel watching over him and his brother. She was in heaven. She had…_

…_made a deal with the yellow-eyed demon._

_It all came crashing in on him in one vicious stroke of anguish. It wasn't an image or cheaply conjured trick meant to break him. Every day since the torture had began, he had been forced to watch her untimely death at the end of each session. He had never made the connection, never wanted to make the connection even though he had suspected…_

_And that was when Dean Winchester finally shattered despite the protest of his entire heart, his entire soul. _

_It was what they had wanted. _

_To break him. _

_To mold him._

_To make him one of them._

_All of the pain and bloody wounds vanished suddenly and Dean found himself on hands and knees, panting against the floor. His head was heavy, his heart and spirit weak from the abuse. He didn't know how long he had been there, but as he lifted his gaze he only found a menacing blade glinting with some unknown light in the darkness that pressed in on him. His broken spirit had agreed despite the protest that still ate away at his heart - his conscience.  
_

"_How… How long?" he gasped, glancing wearily at the blade, knowing its purpose._

"_How long what, my pet?"_

_Dean didn't turn or make any effort to visibly acknowledge the voice that he knew so well. It was one that he would never truly be able to forget as long as he lived._

"_How long have I…"_

"_Twenty-five years, give or take," interrupted the demon with a smile that rivaled the Cheshire Cat's own._

_Dean shuddered and felt his limbs going weak at the discovery. He had known he had been hanging from the rack for ages, but 25 years? He had been here for just under the equivalence of his mortal life… and his mother had been dying everyday he was here. It wasn't fair._

"_You're ready," said the demon with finality._

_Limbs aching for relief, Dean reached out and touched the white hot metal surprised that it was cool in his hand. It didn't hurt. And that's when he realized it._

_Nothing hurt anymore._

_He was too far gone…_

_

* * *

_

Dean shot up with sweat covering every inch of his body and his sheets thrown in a heap on the floor. His chest was heaving as though he had just run a marathon and his ears were still ringing with the anguished screams of those poor souls that he and whatever weapon was given to him had spent a few years...

The wave of nausea hit him so unexpectedly that the elder Winchester barely made it to the bathroom before he was painfully retching into the toilet. He could feel his heart beating wildly with the nightmare still fresh in his mind. He had been having them nearly every night since his return and no matter how fiercely he battled away the guilt while he was conscious, it would always find him while he was defenseless and dreaming.

He rested his back against the cool surface of the shallow bathtub as he pulled the lever on the toilet. He closed his eyes and rubbed the heels of his hands roughly against his eyes as the sound of rushing water chased away the horrible noises from his dream. He blinked against the harsh bathroom light as it mingled with the dark spots he had created from his hands and took in his surroundings, noting with immediate relief that he wasn't in the pits of Hell.

He stood slowly and pulled himself to the sink where he immediately rinsed his mouth and splashed water on his face. His heart was still trying to force its way through his chest when he finally took a look at himself in the mirror and grimaced slightly.

All in all, he didn't look that terrible. His face was a bit scruffy from the three days worth of hair growth and his short hair stuck out at awkward angles from the pressure of the thin motel pillow, but all in all, he didn't look _that_ bad.

_If I don't look so bad, why can't I look myself in the eye?_

With a deep breath, he looked deep into his green gaze and felt his stomach lurch once again. His eyes. They were haunted. Dead. Anything but "okay" like he had been asserting he was.

_No wonder Sam's so worried about me._

He couldn't tell his brother what had happened. Actually, he could tell his brother what had happened, but he didn't want to. Sam needed the extra burden of what Dean had unleashed just about as much as Sam needed even more random, useless facts stored somewhere in that giant brain of his.

Dean would tell Sam when he was ready.

Dean would tell Sam when he had forgiven himself for the things he had done to those other souls.

Averting his gaze from the mirror once and for all, Dean snuck towards the bathroom door and peaked his head out to where his brother was still sleeping. He was happy to see that his little night terror and the consequent aftermath hadn't disturbed his brother one bit. It would have meant too many questions that Dean just didn't want to pair with answers.

He glanced at the red numbers casting an eerie glow from the clock face and a note of derisive laughter stuck itself in his throat. It read 3:13. It figured he would find himself panicking to consciousness during the Devil's hour. With an eye roll and half a thought, Dean quietly closed the door to the bathroom and took his usual morning shower. There was no way he was going back to sleep tonight anyways.

* * *

It started as just an annoying itch, but soon grew to an extremely irritating tickling sensation right on the tip of his nose. He did the only logical thing that his sleepy brain could think to do to get rid of the itch. He slapped his hand to his face. However, the squishy stuff that plastered itself to Sam's face and most of the right side of his head was not the next logical thing that should've happened.

Dean stifled his laughter by gently biting his fist and immediately jumped back onto his bed, hiding the eagle feather they used for smudging rituals on the far side of his pillow. He quickly placed Sam's laptop on his stomach to make it look like he had been browsing the internet and doing anything but filling Sam's hand with shaving cream and tickling his nose. Dean just couldn't help himself, especially after he had discovered Sam had taken that irritatingly adorable picture of himself last night after he had been threatened.

Baby brother needed to learn his place.

"Unnggh," Sam groaned out, lifting his head up off the pillow and blinking sleepily over at his brother.

"Mornin', Princess!" Dean roared as loudly and perkily as possible.

The obnoxiously cheery tone. The nonchalant pose on the bed. The stare practically boring a hole into the laptop screen. The fact that he was even using the laptop in the first place. Can't miss the tugs of laughter that threatened to cut through the silence.

Oh yeah. Dean was guilty.

"Son of a bitch," Sam grumbled, rolling over and sitting up to keep from spreading what he now understood to be shaving cream all over his bed.

"Hey! That's my line! Sammy, don't go stealing my lines!"

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed his pillow with his clean hand, launching it at Dean in one quick and powerful toss. A muffled "hey!" was heard and Sam grinned. At least his pillow had hit its mark.

"Guess this means I need to take a shower," Sam huffed, pulling himself to his feet and stretching away the night's sleep.

"Don't take too long," Dean replied, securing Sam's laptop in his grip before twisting his way off the bed, "I'm starving!"

"You're always hungry," shot back Sam as he stomped off to the shower.

"Just hurry up!" yelled Dean exasperatedly as Sam shut the door and started his morning ritual.

It only took Sam about 20 minutes to get himself showered, shaved and ready to roll. Dean had passed the time looking up interesting things to do in Hawthorne, Nevada and had turned up a couple of museums with antique cars, another museum about stupid laws created when the town was first settled and a place called El Capitan, a resort with a casino.

"Bingo," he murmured to himself and made a point to set the website as the homepage for when Sam opened his web browser. Sam would probably smack him a good one for that, but at least he would see it and (hopefully) be talked into going relatively easily.

Sam was poised at the door with the car keys jangling from the tips of his fingers like noisy bait, "I thought you said you were starving?"

"Always," he said, looking up at his brother while simultaneously closing the computer.

He crossed the room and snagged his keys as he left, leaving Sam to shut and lock the door. It had only been about 10 seconds, but Sam distinctly heard the sound of the Impala's car horn as its owner honked obnoxiously from across the parking lot.

"Ugh, its gonna be one of those days," Sam muttered to himself as he jogged off to join Dean in the car.

* * *

Sam arched an eyebrow as their shapely, brunette waitress winked at his brother while placing the apple pie in front of him. It was only 10:30am and already Dean had managed to catch the eye of a pretty little thing. Sam was pretty sure it was a new record, even for Dean.

"It's on me," she said somewhat more suggestively than was necessary before turning with a much more noticeable sway to her hips than she had approached with. Sam couldn't help but snort a little when he noticed Dean couldn't tear his eyes away either.

"Dude."

It was all Sam needed to say to grab his brother's attention.

"God, I love this town," he said with a wolfish grin. It took him only three seconds to pick up his fork and dig in to his favorite dessert.

"Dean, you don't even know what town we're in," responded Sam as he idly played with the paper place mat with local phone numbers and advertisements scattered about it in a disgustingly colorful display.

"Sure I do," he replied with a mouth full of apple pie, "We're in…"

Sam eyed his brother not wanting to back down in what was rapidly becoming an staring contest of epic proportions. Sam finally averted his gaze as Dean opened his mouth and put his chewed apple pie on display.

"Dude! Gross!"

Dean grinned, chewed once more and swallowed before speaking, "We're in Hawthorne, Sammy."

"You just guessed that," Sam replied, venturing a glance back at his brother, who continued to shovel apple pie into his mouth.

"Nope," he said between chews, "I read the welcome sign over there."

He gestured with his fork, making Sam turn his gaze out to the window. Dean took the opportunity to shoot their attractive waitress a smoldering glance that made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. He smiled, full of himself, before the rowdy truckers, the ones that had entered the diner sometime after Sam had finished his healthy veggie omelet, began to gossip.

"Man, I'm telling' yuh," began one wearing a tattered green t-shirt as he slammed down his lumberjack breakfast, "I sawr at least uh dozen uh them carcuhsses on my way in tuh town. Yuh know. Them big ones. Like deer and mountain lions and the like."

"Sam," Dean whispered over to his brother. After catching his younger brother's gaze for a moment, Dean merely flicked his eyes towards the truckers. Sam immediately took the hint and sipped on his morning tea while pretending not to eavesdrop.

"There ain't no way you saw all them out there on yer way past Aurora," said the other, chugging down his coffee like it was the only thing to keeping him alive.

The brothers exchanged a quick glance, both picking up and tucking away the mention of the name "Aurora" as quickly as it had slipped from the trucker's lips.

"I tells yuh, I did! An' the weird thing 'bout it?" he said, putting his fork noisily down on his plate as he looked his comrade in the eye, "None uh them looked like they wuz hit by anythin' at all. 'Slike they jus' dropped outta the sky!"

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and with the last bite of his apple pie finished, Dean signaled their waitress for the check. She flounced over with the piece of paper which Sam snatched eagerly. He chuckled a bit as he fished a bill from his wallet and passed the piece of paper to his brother.

Along the bottom of the bill, next to the final total, was a phone number.

"I am definitely keeping this," said Dean with a cocky grin and both brother's left the diner to head for the Impala. Sam surpressed the urge to roll his eyes as he slipped further and further into hunter mode.

"To Aurora?" asked Sam. He chanced a glance at his brother and watched Dean's face become stoic. With Dean's switch flipped, he too had become a lethal hunter.

"You betcha."

* * *

**A/N: **The end of another chapter. Things get a little more supernatural and serious from here on out. I hope you're enjoying this so far! Please don't for get to R&R!

xoTrebleMaker


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural is still owned by Eric Kripke. I'm merely borrowing his characters for an idea that's been rolling around in my head for a while...

* * *

A small cloud of dust followed the Impala as potholes and other crevices in the road bit into its tires, tossing the passengers within. Dean did the best he could to minimize the jarring movement, but it was nearly impossible to dodge everything. He sighed with visible relief as they finally reached their destination, putting their off-roading adventure to an end. They hadn't been driving all that long, but he didn't want to put his baby through any more trouble. The last thing she needed was a timeout to change her shocks and struts.

Dean quickly cut the engine and took the keys out of the ignition, swinging them around his fingers and into his pocket in a well practiced movement. The doors to the car groaned in protest as both Winchester's opened them simultaneously. Dean stood and leaned his arm against the top of the door as he took in the town. He only vaguely registered the car's slight movement as Sam slammed his door shut.

"You know, I really thought there'd be a lot more here," Dean stated matter-of-factly as he shut his door. He could just make out the shape of his brother surveying the area with eyes squinted against the sun.

Sam snorted softly as he began to walk forward, "Dude, it's a ghost town. What'd you expect?"

"I dunno, Sammy. Maybe a town? You know. With ghosts?" Dean replied briskly. It wasn't his fault if he had assumed "ghost town" meant town full of restless spirits. For them, that wouldn't have been anything unusual.

Sam shot Dean an appraising look, not quite sure if his brother was joking with him or not. It would be like Dean to automatically infuse his statements with sarcasm just to make him chuckle. However, it would also be like Dean to take the definition of the words "ghost" and "town" literally. Whichever the cause, Sam decided it was best not to dwell on it and turned his attention towards the graying buildings covered in dust and filth.

"Whatever you say, Dean," replied Sam with just a touch of sing-song to harass his older sibling. Dean shot his younger brother a piercing glance daring him to say more. Sam, however, was not that stupid.

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary, especially considering the town had been completely abandoned nearly a century ago for reasons Sam still couldn't track down on the internet. He took in the sight of the buildings, somewhat awed that the red bricks used to build most of them weren't completely bleached by the sun.

The Winchesters wandered the abandoned town aimlessly, finding plates and silverware set up for meals that were never taken. Sam discovered a miniscule nugget of gold and Dean picked up a bit of EMF activity from a spirit that they later discovered was doing nothing more than reliving his horrendous death in an unending loop. (They found his grave in a small cemetery just outside of town then salted and burned his remains to put his spirit to rest.)

Neither Sam nor Dean was completely surprised by the amount of debris covering the town either, especially after considering the heavy storms and winds from the night before. Branches and sticks littered the little abandoned town, no doubt from the surrounding mesquite trees. Signs hanging from the building were crooked, having only one chain left to keep them attached to their sturdy iron bars mounted on the sides of buildings.

However, after searching the town for hours without turning anything up, both Winchesters were beginning to think that they had nothing to find. It was obvious that Aurora was a mess, but it wasn't anything terrible. In all honesty, it was almost so painfully obvious that it was storm damage that Sam was wondering why they had bothered to head out this way in the first place.

It wasn't until there was a thump on his arm accompanied with an impatient "Sam" that the younger Winchester remembered he and his brother were on a research type mission. He had to start paying attention. He had to be the hunter he had learned to be over the years or he'd end up missing some important details. Sam hadn't even realized that they had returned to the Impala already, either.

"What?" Sam asked, dumbly. He didn't catch the irritated look on Dean's face.

"I just said I think we should split up," Dean replied as he headed towards the back of the car.

Dean popped open the trunk and determinedly worked at the lock of the secret compartment, despite the fact that he could probably turn the little dial without even looking at it and still get it open. He knew how Sam felt about splitting up, even when it seemed completely safe. Hell, he hated splitting up with his brother, but he also knew they needed to cover some serious ground before dark. The sun was setting entirely too quickly for them to discover anything substantial together.

"Okay."

Dean's gaze snapped up to his brother's which was rapidly advancing towards the back of the car to snag his weapon of choice. The simple word he had heard come out of Sam's mouth was not what he had expected to hear.

"Seriously?"

"Dude! No!"

Dean huffed and grabbed his favorite sawed-off, holding it in a grip a little tighter than was necessary due to his rising nerves. He shifted his other hand enough to move his jacket. His father's colt was safely tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Dean grabbed for another shot gun, haphazardly tossing it to his brother as he began speaking once again.

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out we're losing daylight fast, Sammy," Dean argued.

"Yeah? And it doesn't take a genius to figure out one of us always gets hurt when we're separated!"

The Winchesters stared at one another, each daring the other to make the first move - the first strike. Dean knew Sam was right. Every time they separated on a hunt, one of them - usually himself - ended up injured or trapped in some impossible way. However, Sam also knew Dean was right. The sun was just barely hovering over the horizon now, meaning they only had about 45 minutes left of sunlight before they had to give up their hunt and start again tomorrow.

Sam broke eye contact with his brother and the standoff was ended.

"Fine. I'll take the south end of town, you take the north," Sam replied checking the salt rounds in his shot gun and reaching into the trunk to grab some more ammo.

Dean looked up at the sun, then looked left towards the south end of town. He could see dark clouds heralding another angry storm rapidly approaching. Without warning, Dean's hunter instincts went into overdrive and something in his gut told him to keep Sam away from that storm at all costs.

"Sure thing, Sammy," he began, slamming the trunk shut with a smirk on his face, "but I'm taking the south end on this one."

Before Sam could put in another word on the matter, Dean had turned and began his trek towards the southern edge of Aurora with his usual confident swagger. Sam shook his head and took in the storm clouds that were beginning to roll in from the same direction his brother was headed. Although something didn't sit right in his stomach, Sam turned and headed north to fulfill his end of the bargain.

* * *

Sam trudged along, keeping an eye out for anything that might be strange or unusual in the barren town. So far, he hadn't seen anything that they hadn't already stumbled upon except for a family of skittish prairie dogs that disappeared into the ground just as fast as they had appeared.

It wasn't long until Sam found himself on the outskirts of Aurora, trying to look out past the thick brush of the mesquite trees that obscured his view. It struck him as odd that so many trees should be growing where there should only be sparse gatherings of brush and maybe a desert flower or two. However, what was growing out there in the distance was definitely something…supernatural. Curious and determined, Sam took a few steps forward.

"The desert is a scary place, brother."

The voice was warm and friendly, but it caused Sam to jump and turn on his heel. He had expected Dean after hearing the word "brother", but the man standing before him now was definitely not Dean. The man before him had russet color skin and deep brown eyes that radiated warmth and vast amounts of wisdom. His hair grew long and was tied with a tan, suede cord that contrasted the silky darkness of his tresses.

Sam shifted, raising his shot gun as he warily surveyed the man before him. He was dressed in jeans and a dark brown trench coat that was a little on the long side for his smaller frame. The jacket was littered with stitches and a few newer holes that had yet to be patched up. Sam also noted, with a quirk of his eyebrow, that this particular trench coat seemed to have a hood attached. That in itself was odd, but what struck the younger Winchester the most was the unusual pattern in the print of the fabric that was only discernable as the man shifted his weight. It was almost as if his jacket was made of feathers.

"Friend, I mean you no harm," began the man in his earthy voice, "I am sorry if I startled you. I am unarmed."

The man pulled his trench coat open, revealing a sage green t-shirt and some jeans, but also a lack of weapons. Sam, although still on guard, lowered his weapon and held his ground. He hadn't even heard the man walk up behind him and he certainly hadn't seen him anywhere in the town earlier in the day or when he had just recently passed through. Where on earth had he come from?

"Do you usually sneak up on people you have no intention of harming?" asked Sam in a much harsher tone than he intended. He could tell the man wouldn't hurt a fly, but something in his gut told him to be cautious.

Instead of taking offense, the man merely smiled and countered, "Do you usually wander around ghost towns that play host to many unnatural beings?"

"Unnatural?"

Sam shifted and took a step forward with his question still heavy in the air. Whether or not this guy was going to harm him, he had managed to draw him in and keep him there. Now Sam knew he had to listen and listen carefully. This guy just might know a thing or two.

"Tell me, brother," the man said as he started casually circling behind Sam, "What do you know of my people that lived here long before your ancestors came from over seas?"

Sam carefully tracked the man and found himself with his back to the deserted town. He couldn't help but notice that the man was inspecting the mesquite trees with such interest that it was almost as if he were expecting something to leap from the branches and attack.

"You're an Indi-," Sam's word died on his lips as the man's eyes narrowed before he corrected his statement, "Uh, I mean, Native American."

"Yes, I am. As if the dark skin and black hair weren't a dead giveaway," the man smirked a bit.

"I don't like to make assumptions," countered Sam with a dark chuckle chasing his words.

_If only he knew how many times assumptions nearly got me or Dean killed…_

Sam watched as the man that had surprised him began to appraise him. Sam noted that his face seemed heavy with what could only be a great responsibility. He had seen that look on Dean's face in the time leading up to his death and, subsequently, his time in Hell. In fact, now that Sam allowed himself to take in the man before him as a person instead of a possible assailant, Sam noted that the man was full of fatigue, caution and a heaviness that seemed to make him much older than he actually was. However, it was only a moment before the same man began to smile in earnest. His eyes sparkled mischievously and Sam wondered exactly how long it had been since this man had interacted with another human being.

"So tell me," he said, his back to the trees in the distance, "What do you know of my people?"

Sam was genuinely confused and didn't know how to answer. It must have been painted all over his face, because no sooner had he opened his mouth to ask exactly what the man meant than the man spoke once again.

"What do you know of our legends? Our folklore?"

A strange prickling sensation ran down Sam's back at the tone of voice this man possessed. His words were inlaid with a certain understanding. It was that of a man that had seen and experienced much. Sam couldn't let it go.

"You know what's causing the storms," Sam said bluntly. He once again took a defensive stance against the man before him.

"Yes," replied the man simply.

A red hue began painting the ground, heralding sunset, and much of the surrounding area as the two men took in each other's presences, not quite sure what the next move should be. However, the color was soon eliminated as deep purple clouds soon obscured the setting sun. Any minute now, there would be a storm. This made Sam a little nervous due to the severity of last night's storm, but the man before him seemed to hardly notice.

"Who are you?" asked Sam.

"You can call me Aaron," he replied. His gaze was taking in the scenery behind the youngest Winchester, making Sam nervous enough to turn and check behind him. Nothing was there, but somehow, Sam knew that something was approaching from way off in the distance. He suddenly hoped Dean was alright.

Aaron was speaking again, however, before Sam had a chance to ask him any more questions.

"The Passamaquoddy are my people and they tell a story that begins many moons ago, before this land was taken by those across the sea. One of their tribe slipped through two gigantic crushing mountains that were many days journey from his home. There, he found another tribe. He laughed at them, because they would wear giant eagle wings and take to the sky."

Sam watched as the man spoke while buttoning his jacket. He didn't find it unusual that Aaron wanted to shield himself from the coming rain, however he did find it odd that there were many more buttons on his jacket than on a normal trench coat. The younger Winchester blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision.

"That's odd," he mumbled to himself as the feathers he had thought he saw in the fabric of the coat seemed to become more and more defined as the coat fastened around him. It had to be a trick of the light, right?

Aaron, seeming not to have noticed Sam's statement, continued, "The Elders of the tribe that the Passamaquoddy man had stumbled upon soon found my ancestor hiding in the bushes, observing their tribe."

"Wait, your ancestor? You mean this is a family history, not just some kind of legend?" Sam questioned the man, getting a funny feeling in his gut that usually accompanied the discovery of a supernatural occurrence was more than a mere bedtime story.

Aaron smiled softly at Sam and Sam knew, right then and there, that he was hearing something that was privy to no one except for direct descendents of this man's family and future descendents. What Aaron was telling him was privileged information that was probably infused with ancient ways of keeping it secret. The smile was confirmation of the truth that Aaron wouldn't be allowed to confirm with words.

"They dragged him out and demanded to hear why he had come," Aaron continued, "He said that he meant them no harm. He only desired to find the source of the thunder and lightening that had been plaguing his family back home. They agreed to share with him, the secrets of thunder and lightening, but that he would be changed forever."

Aaron shifted then in what Sam immediately recognized as agitation. However, Sam could also tell that there was more than one cause to Aaron's emotional upheaval. There was something out there that had his interest other than the legend he was now recounting for Sam; there was something that Aaron seemed to be using all of his self-control not to chase after.

"They crushed his body in a giant mortar and reshaped him in the image of the giant bird in which they worshipped. They gave him a sacred bow, but sent him away with no other answers," continued the Passamaquoddy man.

Sam was growing nervous as the seconds passed. Aaron's entire being was becoming more and more charged, as though he were preparing for battle. His eyes were dark with power and a certain malice that startled Sam. He knew it wasn't meant for himself, but it was still terrifying. Sam found himself aching to know if Dean was alright again.

"Then what?" Sam prompted. The man before him seemed to be taking more interest in the happenings away to the south than in completing the story.

"The newly changed Indian took to the sky and knew he was strong and fast," continued Aaron as he continued to stare past Sam, "He was careful to avoid the trees so that he would not harm them or himself, for he knew that although he was changed, he was not immortal."

Aaron began to pull anxiously at the hood on his trench coat and for a moment, Sam thought he caught a glimmer of yellow fabric at the tip of the hood.

"He flew for many days and many nights until he saw another great bird with crimson eyes circling below him. He called out in greeting and was shocked to find that this bird did not reply, but attacked him instead," Aaron stopped his story abruptly and craned his neck to see behind Sam just as a massive wind began to howl through the abandoned town of Aurora. The fierceness of the wind sent chills down Sam's back that had nothing to do with the storm it heralded. It felt almost as though there was a challenge in the sound, one that Aaron was suddenly accepting.

"Go now," Aaron said with urgency, "You must find your brother. RUN!"

"Dean," Sam said anxiously as he turned on his heel and ran south towards the end of town. He faltered for a moment, realizing he should tell Aaron that he would find him here to finish his story once he found Dean. Skidding to a halt, Sam turned to call out to the Passamaquoddy man. As the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, Sam noted that the man was gone just as suddenly as he had appeared.

A realization hit Sam just as the first flash of lightening ripped through the sky. He knew, without a doubt, exactly what he and his brother were dealing with, at least partly. If he was right, he needed to find his brother fast. He turned back and ran as swiftly as his body would carry him towards Dean.

* * *

"Stupid freakin' Sam and his stupid freakin' wild goose chases," muttered Dean angrily as he stalked towards the southern border of Aurora.

He had seen everything again, completely unchanged, as he wandered between empty buildings and dry, desert growth on his way towards the outskirts of town. Nothing had moved. Hell, it looked like the shadows hadn't even shifted, which was impossible given the angle of the sun.

He had reached the border of the town in record time, too lost in his own thought to have really taken anything in. The barrenness of the desert ahead of him gnawed at his gut, sending his hunter's intuition into overdrive. Without a second to think about what he was doing, Dean plunged ahead into the wilderness ahead of him.

_At least,_ he reasoned with himself,_ it'll be easy to get back._

Dirt and gravel crunched beneath his boots as he continued to walk out into the desert. Dean cast his hazel gaze upwards at the incoming storm again as he walked. It was definitely overhead at this point, but the rain hadn't started. In fact, it almost looked as if the clouds were hovering exactly over the town. That was weird. Storms couldn't actually do that.

"I thought we were the storm chasers in this town, not the other way around," he muttered to himself once again.

Dean kept moving until he suddenly found himself face first on the ground. He coughed and spit out a bit of dirt, grumbling as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

"The hell?"

He turned to look at what he had obviously just tripped over and the sight startled him for a moment. There was a large deer carcass at his feet. It was completely shredded through with gaping holes around its middle. Dark stains around the animal told Dean that the animal had drawn its last breath on this very spot. It had obviously been a meal to some desert creature, but Dean wasn't sure what could have brought it down.

The enormous beast, obviously a stag just due to its sheer size, was gruesome to take in despite Dean's many encounters with blood and gore. However, it was the animals head lying broken and battered about four feet away from its body that disturbed Dean the most. It was just an extremely brutal sight.

The older Winchester hauled himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his jeans and wiping uselessly at his face. The dirt only managed to cake itself to his skin as his sweat began to mingle with the earth. Sam was going to harass him for this once he got back. He just knew it.

The crunching noises beneath his boots resumed as he continued forwards, daydreaming of getting back into the Impala and heading towards civilization. Dean's mouth was watering over thoughts of a thick, juicy burger when he started seeing them.

Carcasses.

Dozens and dozens of big game carcasses.

"Whoa," he said out loud as he took in the sight. Each one was exactly the same as the deer he had seen just outside of town, but there were a variety of animals included in the melee. There were big horn sheep, antelope and even a coyote or two that must have gotten between the hunter and its prey.

_Alright, maybe there is something to this giant bird thing we saw after all._

Dean crouched over the closest body, inspecting the mess for signs of attack. Although the meat had been peeled away by what was obviously a bird - and what he suspected to be vultures - Dean couldn't find any evidence that would tell him exactly what had torn these animals to shreds.

He tilted his head to inspect the creature once more and something caught his eye. Careful to keep as much of the animal on the animal as he could, Dean picked at something until he was able to pull it off the creature and look at it.

It was a feather. An enormous, dark feather unlike anything he had ever seen before. Before he could inspect it further, it was snatched from between his fingers, leaving a red mark from the animal blood, as a strong wind started to pick up around him.

Dean shielded his eyes as the wind increased in strength, creating a small dirt devil that scattered loose sand and debris that tried to get into his eyes. A scream rattled his ears, but it felt like something much more terrible than the wind whipping around him. His heart began pounding in his chest as his survival instincts kicked into over drive.

There was the deep sound of rushing air and Dean felt a forceful blow to his back that sent him toppling forward, rolling end over end, until he was on his back staring up into the angry sky threatening to tear open at any moment. He gasped as air rushed back into his lungs after it had been forcefully been knocked out moments before. He blinked slowly, trying to regain his senses as a dark shadow soared over head. It had glowing crimson eyes.

Dean hefted himself off the ground and searched the surrounding area for his gun. He saw it, about three feet away from where he had been studying the corpse and took after it at a run. He bent at the waist, still running, to scoop up his weapon when he felt the pressure in the air change and he knew that the beast was right behind him.

He turned to look and nearly let out a yell when he came face to face with the beast once again. Its beak was open wide, emitting a terrible shriek that sounded so much like howling wind, that Dean's knees buckled from the force. He fell heavily to the ground, and covered his ears as the creature streaked past him and up into the air once more. As it rushed past, Dean noted, with sudden horror, that this thing - although bird like - definitely had teeth that it intended to use on him.

Dean turned his head and saw his shot gun was just within arms reach. He strained for it, watching as the bird streaked towards him a second time. It wasn't long before his sense slowed and everything seemed to happen to him as though it were struggling through molasses.

Before he knew what was happening, a sharp pain assaulted his senses somewhere around his middle. He could feel his shoulder wrenching painfully just as his fingers brushed against the smooth metal on the barrel of his gun. His head snapped backwards, hitting the ground with a jolt, as his body was lifted from the ground at an alarming speed. Spots floated before his eyes as shock and pain floated through him in a numbing mixture.

Dean looked towards the lower part of his chest and realized, with complete horror, that he was in the talons of the crimson eyed bird and it was squeezing him tightly. He took in a breath to yell and winced immediately. He definitely had a bruised rib if it wasn't cracked completely.

What happened in the next few moments was a complete blur that Dean would only be able to recall in short spurts. He would always remember the sound of thunder so loud that it felt as though it were crashing inches from his ears. He would remember seeing golden eyes full of fury and he would remember the sensations of free falling from the talons of his attacker as he plummeted back towards the ground before he blacked out.

* * *

**A/N: **Another chapter up for your enjoyment! Please, please, PLEASE review!

xoTrebleMaker


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Yep. They're still not mine. You knew that already though...

* * *

Vibrations and the sensation of movement slowly coaxed him to the waking world. It was the gentle kind of motion that he so often associated with the purr of his baby and he knew, with sluggish comprehension, that he was, in fact, safely inside the Impala once again. He mentally took inventory and felt that he was propped up against the car door, his head snuggled into the corner between the door and the seat, yet his legs were completely stretched out. Sammy must've carried him to the car.

That was just freakin' fantastic. Being hauled around by his freakishly tall kid brother like he was some kind of pathetic…

Alright, so maybe he hadn't been conscious and it was probably a necessity, but it was still embarrassing.

Dean wanted to open his eyes, if only to glare at his brother, but his body was too tired to obey his commands. He fought with his memory instead, trying to track down anything that happened between where he was now and what had happened to the giant bird that had him in its talons. The more he pushed against his thought process, however, the more he found he was unable to remember.

He felt a soft groan bubbling up his throat, but he wasn't entirely sure it left his lips. His mind felt as though it was trying to sift through cotton to understand the information it was once again receiving. He hated the helpless feeling, but at the same time, he knew that once it started to wear off, he'd be in pain. Lots of pain.

What the hell had happened?

Minutes passed and his physical strength was returning; he didn't quite have the control over his body to move though. The occasional bumps from the car movements jostled him and he could feel his clothing clinging to him like a second skin. He shivered slightly, uncontrollably, and could smell the heat as it pumped in through the vents. It must've started raining again and Sam must've been trying to warm him up. He couldn't quite feel the heat on his skin and his mind slowly understood that meant he was in the backseat of the car.

He swallowed thickly and knew his face had contorted in discomfort. His throat was painfully dry, almost as if he had been screaming on a winter day after running a marathon. He felt the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile at that thought. At least he could make a good comparison. Okay, so not a good one, but at least he could still compare things. He swallowed again, a dull fire rubbing at his throat. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dehydrated.

Bit by bit, he became aware of sounds around him. There was a rhythmic sloshing and thumping which, after some processing, he came to realize was the windshield wipers running at a high speed. It was definitely raining. He could hear the soft growl of the car engine as it pushed past speeds that it didn't like, but could handle no problem. Somewhere, he was also somewhat aware of a melody floating to him in the distance and he was fairly certain it wasn't rock and roll.

_C'mon, Sammy. I know I taught you better than that…_

Just as the thought rolled through his mind, the first throbs of discomfort started to assault Dean's ribs and upper abdomen. He sucked in a breath against the sensation, immediately regretting his actions. He had some difficulty completely filling his lungs and the deeper he tried to breathe, the more his sore sides complained.

As his midsection pulsed in protest to the actions necessary for breathing, his head joined into the rhythmic throbbing, nearly shattering his pain threshold in the process. Dean was no stranger to pain and he knew he was roughed up pretty good this time. Traces of nausea began to coil tightly in his stomach and he suspected it was more than just the steady pain coursing through his body. He started to piece the clues together.

_Exhaustion? Yes, but I haven't been sleeping well either, so that doesn't count. Memory loss? Check. Nausea? Unfortunately, but that could be 'cause everything hurts. Headache? You can say that again…_

"S'nuvabch."

It was garbled, but the meaning was still clear. At least, he hoped so.

"Dean?"

The soft tinge to Sam's voice further embarrassed the eldest Winchester brother and he fought furiously to open his eyes. They fluttered open reluctantly and Dean's green eyes could only see blurred images for a moment as he turned his head towards his brother's voice. He wrinkled his brow in confusion as his vision cleared to reveal two of Sam.

_And double vision. Definitely not good._

Dean blinked slowly and started pulling himself into a higher sitting position, immediately regretting the action as he flinched against the pain which only served to jar his middle even more. With a muffled grunt, he resigned himself to leaning against the door for the time being; he closed his eyes as another wave of nausea rattled his stomach, only prolonging his discomfort.

When he opened his eyes again, there was only one ceiling and one Sam in the driver's seat. He sighed in relief until he saw the monsoon crashing down on the windshield of his baby.

"The hell you doin' with my car, Sammy?" asked Dean with a voice much less gruff than he had intended.

"What the hell are you doing trying to sky dive without a parachute, Dean?" asked Sam, not taking his eyes off the road as he spoke, "Or a plane for that matter."

Dean could see Sam's concern reflected at him from the rear view mirror, causing the small seed of guilt he had been trying to fight off to sprout awkwardly in his stomach. As Sam continued the pitiful gaze, Dean rolled his eyes and allowed them to close for a moment. He swallowed dryly again.

"I'm fine, Nurse Nightingale. Just a little banged up."

Dean didn't need to see to know that Sam was scowling at him from the front seat. He could practically feel it hovering over him like a bad reputation. However, when Dean forced his eyes open again and took a look at Sam, he couldn't help but notice his brother was a little distracted.

"Just a little banged up? Have you even seen yourself?" asked Sam with a note of desperation and anxiety that Dean didn't like. A pregnant silence followed Sam's questioning, making the younger Winchester worry that his brother had blacked out again, before Dean spoke.

"How long was I out?"

Sam glanced in the review mirror - craning his neck to check at angles that made Dean think he wasn't looking for traffic - as he spoke, "Only about 4 minutes."

_Not including when you were conscious but not all there…_

"But who's counting, right?" Dean snarked back in his usual defensive fashion. He chanced a deep breath and grimaced a bit as his side objected. His overall pain level had diminished some and he was grateful. At least now instead of being completely weak, he could pull off being cranky. That was a huge improvement by his standards.

A dark chuckle and soft stream of cusses floated from Sam as he continued to drive. Dean knew from plenty of experience that Sam was a worry wart, though. This kind of behavior was to be expected. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that little Sammy was worried about his big brother.

"Oh, shit."

Dean looked up at Sam, not liking his tone of voice, and meant to say something sarcastic about his little brother watching his mouth when white hot pain shot through Dean's side as Sam swerved the Impala harshly.

Dean grit his teeth and glared daggers at the back of Sam's head as the younger Winchester straightened out the Impala and looked about nervously.

"Christ, Sam," he ground out, "Pretty sure she doesn't like it _that_ rough."

_And I can't handle it right now._

"Dean, shut up, alright?"

"Bite me."

Sam feigned irritation, but he was secretly thrilled that his brother was coherent enough to have a conversation. The jokes Dean threw in that crude way that only Dean could were just an added bonus. Sam hadn't lied before either. His brother _had_ been out cold for about 4 minutes, but that only accounted for the time it took Sam to hurry him across the ghost town and into the Impala. For about 10 minutes after that, Dean had muttered, hissed and groaned incoherently until he finally, thankfully, asked something about the Impala. That's when Sam knew his brother was finally awake.

Sam swerved violently once again and ignored the muffled noise Dean was making in the back seat. Sam knew he was hurting him, but his other alternative could get them both killed. Living was definitely the better option here.

"Dean, I'm sorry, but if I don't keep swerving like this, they're gonna run us off the road," Sam said, checking the rear view mirror with a steely resolve clinging to his features.

Another swerve caused Dean's breath to hitch as he rode the wave of misery that assaulted him. He knew he'd feel much better once he was out of this car and resting for the night in his lumpy motel room bed.

"What do you mean them?" Dean asked in a croaky voice.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by a clap of thunder right above the car. Both Winchester's found their ears ringing and Sam drove the Impala through the sheets of rain as fast as he dared. The aerial battle above the car kept pace.

Wind howled somewhere outside and Dean found himself shuddering from the sound almost immediately. It wasn't the sound of a normal wind. It was the cry of that horrible thing that had picked him up and tossed him like a rag doll.

"Sam, what did you mean, them?" Dean asked, sitting up under his own steam with his sudden adrenaline rush and looking out the window, "Is there more than one of those monsters out there?"

"Yea, Dean, there is," Sam shouted back, watching as the twin shadows fought in mid air, "but one of them is good."

Dean shot his brother an incredulous look before turning his attention to the birds outside once more. He watched as they scratched, bit and screeched at each other with heavy winds, jarring lightening and claps of thunder punctuating every movement. This whole thing would have been incredibly epic, if it hadn't been for the fact that they were getting uncomfortably close to the Impala.

"No, no, no. No. NO!" Dean started, gripping the passenger's seat in front of him as though he could save his precious car the tighter he gripped the upholstery.

Sam swerved as the aerial brawl dropped suddenly and with a violent gust of wind that buffeted the car even further to the side than Sam had anticipated. The impala bucked as the left side of the car left the paved roadway. Dean grit his teeth as he was jostled as Sam did his best to slow the car without slamming on the brakes completely.

Within moments, the car was at a stand still and the only sounds to be heard were the soft words coming through the car speakers, the heavy breathing of Sam and Dean Winchester and the screeching of windshield wipers as they slid across the suddenly dry glass of the car.

"Did they just…?" began Dean.

"Disappear?" replied Sam looking back at his brother, "Yup. Second time that's happened since…DEAN!"

The backseat of the Impala creaked open as Dean, forcing himself not to flinch as he moved so quickly, got out of the Impala and began circling it frantically. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he halted his frantic trek and gulped at the cold, damp air. He wanted nothing more than to take a deep breath, but his impulsive actions had set his sides on fire again.

"They didn't. Didn't hurt," Dean said between breaths.

"Didn't what?" asked Sam, "Hurt your car?"

"Damn straight. They didn't," Dean replied with a relieved smile gracing his features. His ribs were pulsing again and his head hadn't stopped since he had woken up in the car.

"Seriously, Dean. You were dropped and battered by a supernatural bird and you're more worried about the car than your own health right now?"

Dean turned slowly and leaned his back against the driver's side door of the Impala, gently holding his sore torso with his right arm as he spoke, "Of course, I am, Sammy! Nobody puts baby in the corner…."

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother as he watched the gears turn in his head. They were moving much more quickly than they had been 15 minutes ago, but there was still some lag. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean had at least a mild concussion.

"Or the body shop. Whatever. You get it," Dean finished with a face completely devoid of emotion.

Sam knew that look, although he almost wished he didn't. It was Dean's best defense against anything. Pain, physical or otherwise, was not something Dean liked to share if he could help it. He would bottle it up until he couldn't take it anymore. Denial was the first line of defense. If that started to crumble, deflection came next. The stoic act was a warning sign that things were getting to be too much again. Sam knew he'd be getting an earful tonight.

"Yea, got it," Sam started, snapping himself out of his reverie, "Well, your car is…"

"She," interjected Dean just for the hell of it. Sam recognized deflection, but the lack of expression on his brother's face meant it was a last ditch effort to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Um. _She_," said Sam motioning towards the Impala, "is fine, Dean, which is more than I can say for you. Why don't we get you to the ER and they ca-"

"No. No hospitals, Sam. No freakin' way," Dean said defiantly.

He hated those places almost as much as he hated flying. Actually, flying terrified him, but hospitals mostly just creeped him out. Not to mention the fact that the reapers that hung around in those places were not something he wanted to bump into again. He'd had his fill of reapers the first time around. The second was overkill.

Sam nodded once, "Okay."

He motioned for Dean to go around to the other side of the car. He wouldn't take his brother somewhere he didn't think he needed to go, but there was no way he was letting him drive. Not right now.

"Seriously?"

Dean couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive. It usually wasn't this easy to get Sam off his case. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought…

"Yea, seriously," Sam responded as he watched his brother get himself awkwardly into the front seat of the Impala. For all it was worth, his face scrunched during the process, but he didn't make a sound.

Sam eased himself into the driver's seat and coaxed the car back to their hotel as night began to settle into the sky. There was absolutely no trace of a storm other than the puddles cluttering the ground.

* * *

Sam waltzed through the motel door and put the keys down on top of the TV across from the beds, holding the enormous first aid kit tightly in his other hand. He surveyed the room with the eyes of a hunter, making sure nothing had changed since they had left. Placing the kit at his feet, Sam slid off his jacket and threw it on the foot of his bed just as his brother walked through the front door.

"No place like home," Dean grumbled as he slunk in through the door. His gait was even, but his stride was much shorter than normal. Sam couldn't help but notice that his right arm was still wrapped tightly around his torso, as if holding his ribs in place.

"You said it, man," Sam said, hauling the first aid kit onto his lap. He started pulling out the things he knew his brother would need as he started speaking again, "You know, I gotta do a little more research first, but I think I know what we're dealing with."

He looked up and was surprised to see Dean setting up his pillows against the head board so he could sit up for a while. Sam paused his actions and turned, tossing his extra pillow over to his brother, who took it and added it to the pile without saying a word.

"What is it?" asked Dean as he gingerly laid himself back against the pillows.

Sam continued perusing the medical supplies just looking for the bottle of Vicodin he had saved from his last trip to the ER. He could hear the pills rattling around somewhere in the box as he spoke, "I think we've got a Thunderbird on our hands."

"That would explain all the storms that start and stop suddenly," Dean replied gruffly. His arm, although more relaxed across his torso, hadn't moved.

"Yea, but I don't get why there's two of them," Sam said more to himself than anything as he slammed the first aid kit shut and laid out the few supplies on the night stand between the beds.

"I'll be right back, Dean," Sam said softly. He took one final glance at the pills, ointments and bandages laid out on the table, knowing that Dean would at least take the pain pills when he left. He probably wouldn't even consider looking himself over until Sam took a shower. In a few strides, Sam was out the door to get some ice for his brother.

Dean trembled as he forced himself to take a deep breath. It was miserable, but he knew the routine. It wasn't like he'd never injured his ribs before. He grimaced as his muscles began to spasm, but he fought the urge to tense. That would only make things worse.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered and forced himself to sit up. He took in the medical supplies Sam had left for him and was a little surprised to see antibiotic ointment and some gauze in the mix. As far as he knew, he had hit his head and nearly been squeezed to death, but he hadn't cut himself. Then again, he had also been flung through the air and, presumably, hit the ground pretty hard. Maybe he had a few scratches.

Dean grabbed for the Vicodin, smirking as he read the name on the label. Roy Rodgers. He was surprised Sam had still managed to get the prescription after pulling a stunt like that. Then again, he had run into stranger names in his time.

He popped the bottle open with little effort and emptied one of the little white pills out of the container. Sam had conveniently left a bottle of water next to the pills, which Dean grabbed and slugged down with the medicine. He took out a second pill and put it down on the night stand next to the bottle of water just in case the first didn't cut the pain. He didn't want to use it unless he absolutely had to. They were running low on high strength pain medications these days.

Dean was just rearranging himself back on the bed when the door to the room opened. He knew it was Sam just by the sound of his footsteps.

"Hey, I got you some ice," Sam said, grabbing a towel from the bathroom, wrapping the flimsy plastic bag in it and placing it in Dean's waiting hand.

"Thanks," he managed to mumble before closing his eyes and placing his left arm over them. His right held the ice steady against his right side which was the sorest. He hoped Sam picked up the obvious cues that he wanted to be left alone.

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment before speaking, "Alright, well I call first shower of the night."

Dean heard his brother's foot steps receding and the soft click of the bathroom door. He waited an extra minute and was rewarded with the sound of running water. He knew Sam would purposely take a leisurely shower, if only to give his brother the extra time he needed to look himself over.

Now that he was alone, he could get down to business. Hissing, Dean sat up again and peeled off his shirt, a little confused when he saw a few holes in the back of the fabric with just a little bit of blood surrounding each one. He thought for a moment and understood that the creature's sharp talons must've broken the skin. At least that would explain the gauze and ointment Sam had grabbed for.

The cool air in the room made Dean shiver slightly and he swallowed before glancing down at his chest and stomach. A mix of purple and blue bruises greeted his gaze and he squinted at the sight. He hesitated for a moment and carefully began palpating the area, knowing the general gist of it from previous hospital visits. He winced as he neared the darker portions of the bruises and forced himself to keep the right amount of pressure before moving on to other less bruised areas of his body.

He let out a breath with half a smile. Nothing was broken, but the muscles were definitely bruised - as if he couldn't tell just by looking at the dark colors splattered across his body right now. Dean knew the correct treatment. He _should_ take it easy for a couple of weeks to let his midsection recover, but he wasn't willing to put off the hunts. He'd take it slow for the next few days, but he'd still be out in the field. He wouldn't leave his brother unprotected.

"Now how the hell do I see my back?" he asked himself. Fortunately, there was a small mirror mounted on the wall near the door.

Hauling himself to his feet, Dean grabbed the mirror from the wall and tossed it on his bed. He stood over it until he found just the right angle to see the little holes in his back that were already scabbed over. It didn't look bad and probably didn't need any attention, but Dean used the water left on the night stand to clean the wounds, his sides aching with the twisting the action required, before covering each with a generous amount of antibiotic ointment.

Dean didn't bother with the egg he knew was on the back of his head. It obviously wasn't bleeding, but he clearly had a mild concussion. There was nothing he could do about that except ride it out.

He was just digging through his duffel bag for something clean to sleep in when he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. He grabbed an old t-shirt, threw it over his head and was just stripping off his jeans when he brother came out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

"Didn't think the rest of the state needed hot water, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and continued to towel dry his hair. Dean's jibes only meant that he was feeling better. The Vicodin must be doing its job. Sam grabbed his laptop and plopped himself down on his bed, getting comfortable while letting the machine boot up. He looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He looked more relaxed, but something was still bothering him. Maybe he just needed to sleep.

"Dean, just go to bed," Sam said as he typed in his password and the laptop screen sprang to life, "You look like shit."

"I look better than you on a good day," Dean shot back and clicked on the TV. He was tired and knew he needed to sleep, but his guard was down and the nightmares would come more easily tonight. He didn't want to deal with that yet.

"Keep telling yourself that," Sam said quietly as he surfed the web courtesy of the motel's wireless connection.

"I heard that, smartass," Dean replied trying to fight the smile that wanted to usurp his face. He focused, instead, on the news that was occasionally drowned out by static.

"Good, ya jerk," Sam countered as he read through a promising article on the Thunderbird legend.

"Bitch," Dean countered, looking over at Sam.

The stare didn't go unnoticed by Sam, he just didn't know how to acknowledge his brother without him shutting down. Sam chose to ignore Dean's gaze, hoping his brother would just start speaking. He didn't have to wait long.

"I can't just go to sleep, Sam."

Sam bookmarked the page he had found and shut his laptop. He knew Dean was starting to open up.

"Afraid of the boogie man?"

Sam smirked and Dean's face remained unchanged.

"I see it every time I close my eyes."

"See what, Dean?" Sam asked more out of courtesy than anything else. He had heard his brother wake up panting or screaming before in the past. He knew what he was going to say next before he even said it.

"Hell," he said, closing his eyes and opening them. His gaze had darkened slightly, green turning to a slightly more hazel hue as his eyes sparkled wetly.

Sam's face softened and his heart ached uncomfortably. It was a touchy subject for the younger Winchester too. After all, his brother had sacrificed his soul so that Sam could have a second chance on earth. Sam waited patiently for Dean to continue, not entirely sure of what he should say next.

"I saw her, you know," Dean said with a choking lilt to his voice that Sam knew too well. It was the same sound that plagued Dean's voice after their dad's death too.

"Dean, who?"

Nothing could have braced Sam for what he was about to hear.

"Mom," Dean said as tears finally slid down his cheeks, "I saw Mom down there."

He looked up and to the side. He looked anywhere but at Sam, who's gaze was piercing him like a silver bullet. He didn't want to tell Sam all of this, but he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"Dean, are you serious? I mean…_Mom_?"

Sam head was reeling. Their mother had made a deal with old yellow eyes to get their father back, but Sam had been the bargaining chip in that one. Her soul shouldn't have been there. It couldn't have been.

"Yea, Sam. It was her," Dean replied, "I still don't know how or why, but it was her."

Both brothers were silent for a while, not quite sure what to say to the other. The TV was a great distraction for a while, but Sam soon broke through it with relative ease.

"Dean, I have no idea what you went through while you were in Hell," he started, unsure of where his words were taking him, "But you shouldn't have had to…"

Sam started to get choked up as the guilt washed over him. It was all his fault that his brother had taken the plunge into the fiery underworld.

"If it wasn't for…for me…"

"You would've done the same for me, Sam," Dean responded without hesitation.

"Yea," Sam whispered in response.

The dialogue on TV was interrupted as Dean began flipping through the limited number of channels and the brothers knew the exchange was over for the time being. Dean would say more, but not for a while. Not until all of his other defenses broke again.

The roar of monster truck engines quickly replaced the sound of the daily news and Sam knew it was safe to start researching again. He was making some serious progress when he realized the sound had filled the room for close to an hour. Glancing at Dean, he was surprised to see his brother had nodded off, the second Vicodin still resting on the night stand where he had put it to begin with. Sam shut down his lap top before he turned off the TV. Sam drifted off to sleep within minutes and neither Winchester woke until the sun was in the sky the next morning.

It was the first night Dean had slept through the night since his return.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for the kind (if few) reviews, guys! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far. Its about to get a little more complicated...  
Anyways, please, please, PLEASE review! I love your feedback!

xoTrebleMaker


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural is the property of its creators and those that pay to put it on TV. I'm only borrowing their creations for a little while.

* * *

Dean awoke with a strange mix of elation and discomfort. His head and ribs pulsed in time with his heart, something he had been expecting since he had fallen asleep the night before. He tried to keep his face even, knowing he would have a very short fuse all day; just the thought of that alone seemed to shave off a few inches of his already short temper. However, his nose was absolutely delighted by the aroma of fresh coffee as it wafted through the air and covered the stale smell of the dank motel room.

The young hunter inhaled deeply through his nose, the heavenly smell interrupted by the sharp jolt that ran down his sides. He groaned softly, recognizing with sleepy comprehension, that he was laying propped up on his back - something he only did when he was sick or injured. He sniffed at the air again, cracking open his eyes, and pushed away the images of yesterday's events as they started to resurface.

"Mornin', Dean," Sam chirped as he sipped contentedly at his latte and typed away at his laptop.

He hadn't had a difficult time stumbling across a Starbucks to get himself a mocha latte with an extra shot of espresso this morning. The caffeine buzzed merrily through his veins as Sam continued to glance at his laptop screen and jot down little details in his notebook, taking care not to glance too often at his brother out of concern.

"How on earth can you be so cheerful this early in the day?" grouched Dean as he pulled himself up onto his elbows. Dean had never been a morning person and Sam's obvious early riser routine had always managed to irritate the hell out of him. His irritation just pushed him there in record time.

Sam took another sip from his latte before he spoke, "Yea, Dean. Early. Crack of 9:30 and everything."

"C'mon, man, its before double digits," Dean shot back with a rough edge to his voice as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, "Its obscene to be up this early."

"Whoa, Dean! Obscene?" Sam asked, "That's an awfully big word to be using so _early_."

"Can it, college boy."

Sam smirked at the exchange. He'd never admit it to Dean, but the early morning banter had a purpose. It was Sam's way to check that his brother's concussion hadn't gotten any worse during the night. The snappy comebacks, although unoriginal, were the perfect evidence that Dean was still Dean. Sam could breathe easy for a while.

It wasn't long until he was brought out of his relief by the sensation of eyes boring into him and looked up to find his older brother shooting him with a look to kill. Sam was just about to open his mouth when Dean just shook his head and laughed roughly. Sam pretended not to notice the grimace that followed the simple action.

"So what's on the agenda for today, Sam?" Dean asked earnestly before his face darkened a little as he wrestled with the pressure building behind his eyes.

_Damn concussions_, he thought to himself.

Dean was a little moody, but Sam knew not to take it personally; he suspected - actually, he _knew_ - his brother was uncomfortable and needed extra sleep to recuperate. He watched as Dean discreetly popped a Vicodin into his mouth and chased it down with the small bit of water leftover from the night before.

Sam kept his face light and untroubled as he spoke, "I thought I could head back to Aurora this afternoon."

"I? You mean 'we' right, Sammy? You're not thinkin' of going out there alone…" Dean said, his statement hovering in the air as he stood slowly. His right arm subconsciously wrapped itself around his middle as he walked, slightly hunched, towards the bathroom.

"Yea, Dean," Sam responded firmly, "Actually, I was. I think you should stay here and…"

"And what, Sam. Sleep? Relax? Paint my nails? Have a freakin' spa day? No thanks. I'm good."

Sam's face tightened and he let a short burst of air out of his nose in irritation. He chose his words carefully, knowing tension would be dripping from his tone despite his best efforts to squash it, before he said, "I just think you should take it easy today, alright?"

"Yea, yea," Dean said complacently as he shut the door to the bathroom. Sam was only half surprised to hear the water start running a few minutes later. His brother could be so stubborn sometimes.

"Don't take too long or your coffee'll get cold!" he shouted before taking a sip of his own latte and getting back down to research.

Sam had stumbled across many pages referencing the Thunderbird. His favorite, however, had been a forum entitled "Is the Thunderbird a real bird?" It had taken all of his self control to keep from laughing out loud. He was fairly certain that Dean wouldn't have found it nearly as funny as Sam had, especially if it meant waking up before 8am.

His searches after that little gem had been flooded with information about Thunderbirds all morning once he figured out how to navigate away from the crypto zoological websites and the paranormal forum websites. There was absolutely no doubt in Sam's mind that they were dealing with the legendary Native American bird at this point. Every description, right down to the glowing yellow eyes and the fierce battle cry that sounded like a clap of thunder, pointed to that final solution.

The younger Winchester rubbed at his eyes as a stinging dryness reared its ugly head. It was a sensation that he knew well from his time spent cramming at Stanford; he also knew that he should take a break from his research, but he didn't want to risk it. If he paused, he knew what he would see.

Even as he fought back the images, they pranced around his defenses and Sam could do nothing more than give in. Adrenaline leaked into his system, jockeying for position above the caffeine, as Sam blinked. His mind's eye saw his brother in the tight grip of an enormous bird, dark in color with jagged teeth in its terrible hooked beak. He stared blankly at the wall of their motel room as his inner vision replayed the event in slow motion. He shuddered as he watched the creature rocket upwards and felt himself tense when he saw the limp form of his brother as it spun and twisted in midair until it landed with a sickening thud on top of a mountain lion carcass. That half eaten animal had probably saved his brother's life.

Sam shook it off the best he could and brought himself back to task. He was still having a bit of trouble uncovering what exactly the second "Thunderbird" creature was and his riddle needed an answer. He darted around through a few more websites until one popped up with feathers, Native American symbols and the cartoon outline of black cactuses painted over an array of sunset colors. He took a long sip of his latte and decided the site was more like a 3rd grader's attempt at a book report than a legitimate site. He was about to click the back button when a picture just barely visible at the bottom of the window caught his attention.

He scrolled down to take in the sight, expecting a hokey drawing similar to the ones that covered the rest of the page. His eyes, however, grew wide in shock and he nearly dropped his half full cup as the image took up the majority of the window now displayed on the laptop screen.

"No way," he said softly, analyzing the image.

It was all there in gruesome detail. The sharply curved beak glinted red with what Sam could only imagine was blood. Serrated teeth hung from the edge of its mouth, a silent threat to whatever dared cross its path. Its feather were dark, but Sam couldn't quite tell if they were brown, black or red. After careful inspection, he simply decided they were some how all three and moved onto the next detail. What caught his interest most, though, was the depiction of rivulets of wind spouting from its wings. As Sam let his eyes wander to the larger picture, he realized the creature was soaring in front of a massive tornado.

He shook his head slightly in disbelief, but was disappointed when he couldn't find any more information other than the caption below it.

_Wochowsen? Is that what that thing is?_

Curiosity itching at the back of his brain, Sam opened up another tab in his internet browser and had Google cued up in the blink of an eye. He typed the letters in quickly before double checking the spelling; hitting enter put the internet hunt into motion and he waited for the next page to load on the slow wireless connection. A soft thud and a string of cuss words echoed throughout the bathroom and Sam tensed slightly.

"You alright in there?" he called as he tried not to let panic take over. Sam listened intently and heard the running water stop and a flutter of other noises that he knew must've been his brother getting out of the shower and drying off while managing to knock over and otherwise destroy everything that got in his way and pissed him off.

"Just peachy."

Sam rolled his eyes and responded under his breath with a mumbled, "Sounds it."

Sam's search page turned white briefly before it became a list of links with tags to the wochowsen. Sam's eyebrows lowered into a straight line of irritation, however, as he scanned the search results. Every link was purple. He had already searched through all of these sights and only found limited information about the Thunderbird.

"I have to talk to Aaron again," he mumbled as he clicked the back button twice on the browser to display the picture of the Wochowsen once again.

"Who's Aaron?" Dean asked, walking in with his posture slightly better than before as he tried to run a towel over his short hair, "And more importantly, where's my coffee?"

Sam didn't bother looking up as he handed his brother a tall, dark roast coffee without any of the bells or whistles that the younger Winchester so cherished about his caffeinated treats. He thought for a moment about making a rude comment to Dean, but thought better or it.

"Aaron was the guy I bumped into yesterday," Sam said, turning the laptop to face his brother, "This look familiar to you?"

Dean eyed his brother, still not ready to let go of the whole "guy I bumped into" thing as he took a big mouthful of coffee. He glanced at Sam's computer screen and swallowed in one big gulp. His face hardened and his eyes steeled over. Sam knew that Dean recognized it immediately.

"I dunno, Sammy," he began with an arrogance to his tone, "Kinda hard to tell what I saw yesterday seeing as I was so up close and personal."

"You coulda just said no, Dean," Sam replied as he swiveled the laptop back towards himself.

Dean swallowed another mouthful of lukewarm java and reigned himself in a bit. He didn't mean to be so hard on Sam, but he'd be damned if his whole body didn't ache. It was enough to make anyone with a lower tolerance to pain throw in the towel. If he bellyached or threw around his fair share of bitchiness all day, so be it.

"That was it, Sam," Dean said after a moment. His voice had gone a little softer and he hoped his brother picked up the intended apology. He carefully sat himself down on his bed, placing his coffee on the nightstand, and started struggling with his boots while he spoke.

"So what else did you get? Or do I get to play 20 questions with you and that giant rolodex you call a brain?"

Sam picked up on the change in tone and did his best to ignore the tremors in his brother's voice as he replied, "Uh, well, its all pretty much the same from site to site."

He took another sip of his tepid drink, savoring it as it disappeared, before he continued, "Giant mythological bird that brings thunderstorms. Crypto-zoologists believed it to be a living dinosaur in the 1890s. Some sites say it carries a snake with it that creates lightening. Others say the creature does it itself. They all agree, though, that it has glowing golden eyes and it cannot hurt another living creature. Not on purpose."

"So that thing that got me, then. It wasn't a Thunderbird?"

"No. Turns out its something called a Wochowsen," Sam said, doing his best to pronounce the Native American word.

"Huh," Dean said, grimacing as he sat up straight and sipped at his coffee, "So the Thunderbird has an evil cousin."

"Looks like."

"And you said something about a guy. Aaron, was it?"

Sam nodded as he spoke, "Yea. Aaron just kinda showed up in the middle of our little research trip. He's a Passamaquoddy Indian and he knows a thing or two about…"

"Wait a minute, this guy showed up in the middle of nowhere right where you happened to be?" Dean asked, leaning back on his hands to give himself a break from the torture that had become bending over. He tried to look nonchalant as he continued, "And you didn't think it was…weird…or anything?"

"Dean, it freaked me out, alright? But he didn't have any weapons and he started telling me this story."

Sam recounted what Aaron had told Dean, frequently referencing different websites that confirmed the legend. He was sure to include every little inflection Aaron had used and also the little bit about how Sam had caught on that this was a family history. Dean, still resting on his arms, sat and listened patiently. Sam didn't find this incredibly odd; he knew Dean got right down to business when it came to hunting. However, the younger Winchester has a sneaking suspicion Dean sat so still to keep from having to tie his boot and put on the other one.

When Sam was finished, Dean spoke, "You're right. We have to go back to our favorite little ghost town. We gotta talk to that guy."

Sam nodded and watched as Dean's face shifted into a look of determination as he shifted his posture and bent over again to tackle his boots. Wrinkles of pain started to appear on his face as he fought to tie his shoe before starting the whole routine with the other foot.

"First you make a bunny ear with one string. Then you make another bunny ear with the other string," taunted Sam as he shut down his laptop and finished off his latte.

"Shut up, Sam."

* * *

Breakfast was taken at a leisurely pace, partly because of Dean's inability to sit comfortably and eat at the same time, partly because of the waitress that had taken to his vulnerability like a duck to water. Dean had caught her eye again, the same brunette with the adorable smile. She had been friendly at first, asking about the Impala, which made Dean beam with pride, and friendly questions about the boys. Dean managed to fluster her with the same tricks he had used yesterday, but his injuries had made her extra attentive to their table. Later, he caught a look in her hazel eyes that he had learned to abhor - pity.

Now, the two Winchesters were bouncing around inside the Impala after Dean had relinquished the wheel to Sam. He had tried to drive, but the bumps and the coordination driving required had tired him out too quickly. Dean tucked himself against the seat of the Impala and willed the car to stop bucking. He was already seeing dark spots.

"So you gonna call dear Sarah when you get back?" Sam asked with a smirk plastered to his face.

Dean swallowed, fighting back the nausea that was clawing at his stomach, and shot Sam a look. His voice was strained when he finally managed to talk.

"Maybe when my ribs aren't forty different colors."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "You want to be in tip top shape for your night on the town, huh?"

"Who said anything about going out, Sammy? I'd rather spend the night in," Dean said with the same strained tone. He waggled his eyebrows for good effect, but it was lost as soon as Sam hit a bump that had him spitting out curses.

"You want me to pull over for a bit?"

Dean shook his head quickly, a little too quickly and the car spun. He clenched his eyes shut and grabbed at the passenger door to steady himself.

_Maybe I shouldn't've gone…_

"You sure you're okay?"

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice or his stomach. He was pretty sure if he opened his mouth now, he'd be revisiting breakfast. It had taken him way too long to get it all in his stomach in the first place. There was no way he was going to lose it now.

It was another 15 minutes of jostling before Sam finally steered the Impala over to a flat patch right outside of Aurora. Sam jumped out of the car immediately and began surveying the area in shock. Everything that had been standing yesterday was in so much distress today. Some buildings had even been leveled. It was a wreck.

"The hell happened," Dean said. He had taken some extra time to get himself out of the car and Sam couldn't help but noticed that he was walking a bit hunched again. He really shouldn't have come.

"This is a battlefield, my friends."

Sam spun on his heel. It was a voice he recognized, because it was one that he had had a conversation with the day before. Dean turned impressively quick considering his injuries; the intense throbbing that spiked through him never showed on his face. After the surprise visitor, Dean was in full blown hunter mode.

"Aaron," Sam said with surprise.

Dean shifted his weight and spoke, "Wait. You're Aaron? The guy that snuck up on my brother? And now you're sneaking up on both of us?"

"Yes, it was me," Aaron said, unbuttoning his trench coat, "But we don't have time for this now. You must help me."

"Help you?" Dean asked harshly.

"Yes," Aaron said, the agitation in his voice obvious, "Help me so these storms can stop. So these battles can…"

"Battles?" Dean asked, the one word loaded with meaning.

Sam sighed, the picture starting to make itself clear in his head.

"There's something you're not telling us, right Aaron?" Sam questioned. Dean turned to look at him, not missing the tone of comprehension.

"You are right, Sam Winchester," Aaron responded plainly.

"Then start talkin'," Dean said with impatience.

So, without delay, Aaron began to speak. He told the story of the Thunderbird in full starting from the beginning, only pausing once to shoot Dean a look because he was becoming impatient.

The story went something like this.

_Passamaquoddy Indian legend tells one of their tribe slipped through two gigantic crushing mountains and found another tribe of Indians that would wear giant eagle wings and take to the sky. These Indians were called the Thunderbird tribe. _

_Elders of the Thunderbirds found the Passamaquoddy Indian hiding in the bushes and observing their tribe. They dragged him out and demanded to hear why he had come. He said that he meant them no harm. He only desired to find the source of thunder and lightening. They agreed to share with him, the secrets of thunder and lightening, but that he would be changed forever._

_They crushed his body in a giant mortar and reshaped him in the image of the giant bird in which they worshipped. They gave him a sacred bow and arrows, but sent him away with no other answers._

_The newly changed Indian took to the sky and knew he was strong and fast. He was careful to avoid the trees so that he would not harm them or himself, for he knew that although he was changed, he was not immortal._

_He flew for many days and many nights until he saw another great bird with crimson eyes circling below him. He called out in greeting and was shocked to find that this bird did not reply, but attacked him. A great battle ensued, one that left both parties very tired, but at last, the young Indian knew the origin of thunder and lightening. Every time he opened his beak, rumbles of thunder would follow in their wake and every gaze at the giant enemy bird sent lightening towards it._

_And so, the two birds shall always battle, for one of each kind is born to the tribe every generation. They are the Thunderbird and the Wochowsen._

When Aaron finished his story, Sam sat in reverent silence, understanding the full weight of what they had been told. Dean, on the other hand, was agitated and it had more to do with the story than the angry pulsations wracking his head.

"So you mean to tell me," Dean started, "that you have us involved in an ancient turf war?"

Aaron smiled wryly as he spoke, "It is hardly a turf war, Dean Winchester."

"Then what is it and why do you need us?" continued the elder Winchester.

Aaron hesitated, watching as the storm clouds started to roll in again from the south just as they had yesterday. This was the way it was and always had been. This is how it always would be.

"Tell me, brothers," Aaron said, trying a new tactic, "Do you believe in God?"

Dean snorted with a smirk on his face. There was no way he wanted to get into a theological discussion right now. He knew there was evil. He fought it on a daily basis. He also knew there was a supreme ruler of that darkness and if Judeo-Christian scripture held true, there was an ultimate being of light too. But after what he had lived through in the pit, regardless of who or what had brought him back, he was hard pressed to believe that there was anything better than suffering and darkness meant for him ever.

"Its about balance," Sam threw in before Dean could go off on Aaron. Everything about his brother's troubled expression screamed showdown.

"Yes," Aaron responded with a curt nod. His voice was strong as he continued, "The Thunderbird tribe was destroyed by the Wochowsen after they changed that man. It is the only thing that stands between my people and complete annihilation."

Dean said with confusion, "Are you telling me the Thunderbird is…is like God and the freakin' Wochowsen is the Devil?"

"I am hardly the Great Spirit," Aaron said with a shy smile.

"You?" Dean asked before he could stop himself.

"Why do you think he's been able to sneak up on us, Dean?" Sam asked, turning to his brother, "Why do you think the storm is coming? Hovering here? Again, Dean."

Dean looked at Sam with an unreadable expression on his features; it would've been humorous if it wasn't for the fact that there was a tinge of pain buried beneath the surface. Despite Dean's best efforts, yesterday's events were getting to him.

"So if you're not God, what are you then?" Dean asked.

"I am only the Thunderbird," Aaron said, beginning to button his trench coat once more. Feathers, dark and shiny, stood out on the fabric and Sam knew then and there that they were real.

The storm clouds drew in close then, purple and heavy with what was obviously rain. Dean tugged uncomfortably at the sleeve of his leather jacket as he did everything he could to avoid eye contact with the half man, half "mythological" bird before him.

"Why do you need us?" Dean asked, finally making eye contact with Aaron.

"I need you to help me get my bow back," he said simply.

Sam looked at Aaron for a moment, appraising him. As the man buttoned the last button upon his trench coat, Sam saw that the boots the man wore began to shimmer on his feet. They stretched and grew until the man didn't have a boot on his foot, but three long toes stretching forward on each foot and one protrusion stretching backwards.

"Your bow? As in, the one given to the first Thunderbird when he was made?" Sam asked, trying to piece everything together.

"Yes, that bow," said Aaron, his voice taking on an animalistic quality, "It was stolen from my by my greatest enemy."

There was a howl of wind, one that made both Winchester's skin crawl and they both knew without a doubt that the Wochowsen was back.

"Go to the northern border of town and continue through. You will find a nest. It is the Wochowsen's. She has my bow. I need it to start the cycle over," Aaron said with undeniable certainty.

"Start the cycle over?" Sam asked, not understanding.

Dean asked incredulously, "Why can't you get it yourself?"

"There isn't time!" Aaron yelled angrily as the screech of the other bird filled the air. It was upon them.

There was a flash of movement from the Indian man as he adjusted his overcoat and began pulling the hood over his head. Sam and Dean could only watch, dumb founded, as the jacket enlarged and took on a completely different shape. At long last, the hood was in place and with a blinding flash of lightening, the Thunderbird stood before them.

* * *

**A/N:** Woohoo! Another chapter! Thanks for a ll the lovely reviews I've been getting! Please, please, PLEASE leave me some more!

xoTrebleMaker


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine except the plot and the 2 characters that _aren't_ Sam and Dean.

* * *

The Winchesters wasted no time after Aaron - or rather the Thunderbird now - took off into the air with great sweeps of his wings that did little more than rustle some of the dirt at their feet. Sam watched as the Thunderbird continued to climb higher and higher, yet everything that should have been blown away by the gusts of wind caused by its great flapping wings hardly even trembled. It really was true that the Thunderbird couldn't harm a thing.

Drops of rain began to dot the ground as Dean hoisted up the secret compartment in the trunk of the Impala and surveyed their artillery as he ran his hand down his face. If what Aaron told them was true, anything they brought with them would be completely useless against the Wochowsen if it chose to attack them. That didn't mean they should go completely unarmed; after all, there were other things in the desert - of the garden variety too - that might try to take them down. They needed protection from the things that were simply natural.

"Here," Dean said, absent mindedly grabbing for a shotgun and handing it to his little brother without looking at him. His right shoulder was sore from its abuse the day before, but it was his ribs that protested the loudest. He knew he couldn't look at Sam without giving away his discomfort.

"A shot gun? Really, Dean?" Sam asked, the skepticism heavily hanging in his words as both eyebrows skyrocketed as high as his face would allow them.

Dean looked at Sam only after his brother took the weapon from his hands. His face compelled the serious determination that washed over him with steely resolve. His voice was harsh and irritated as he spoke, "Yea, Sam. A friggin' shotgun. Got a problem with that?"

"Dude, you heard him," Sam said waving vaguely in Aaron's direction overhead with the shoutgun, "The only thing that can bring the Wochowsen down is an arrow shot from the bow."

Dean grabbed his favorite sawed off and slammed the trunk closed, not enjoying the spasms that racked his ribs at the action. He kept his face menacingly even as he turned to Sam. It was a silent plea for Sam to question him - goad him into an argument. It would be a welcome distraction from all the discomfort.

"Yea, Sam. I heard him," Dean shot back, the anger almost palpable, "But we're not going out there completely defenseless, alright? We need to be ready for anything."

Sam's face receded into a mask of angry irritation at Dean's words. Dean was playing the big brother card, which wasn't completely unusual yet still irked him something fierce. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed his mouth again in a tight lipped grimace as he suddenly understood. He tried not to let the comprehension soften his visage.

Of course. It made sense now. Dean's defense mechanism against anything, especially pain, was banter, anger and argumentative tendencies. The Vicodin must be barely taking the edge off and it was too early for another pill. Dean was pulling from his bag of tricks to keep himself distracted.

The brothers stared at each other for a few more moments, but it was the youngest that broke the silence first.

"Ready for anything, Dean? Really? You're lecturing me about being ready when you can't even take a deep breath without cringing?"

It was a low blow and Sam knew it. Rain began to fall in a steady rhythm as Sam continued to watch his brother. He was looking for any sign that he was winning this contest.

Dean clenched his teeth, the muscles along his jaw line visibly flexing at the action as he tried to keep the sharp words flowing through his mind from escaping his lips. Inwardly, he knew Sam was right. There was no way he could possibly be ready for anything that might happen today. His head was throbbing simply from standing and walking the whole 5 feet from the passenger seat to the trunk. Trotting through this town, a sawed-off at the ready like he was special ops, was definitely out of the question for the day, but he couldn't back down now.

"So what, Sam? We just let that thing get away with taking down buildings and harming more people?" Dean asked defensively. He didn't like the hint of desperation that had mingled into the angry tone of his voice. If he wasn't careful, Sam would figure out why he was fighting so hard for this.

Sam shifted his stance as a flicker of something unusual entered his brother's green gaze for a fraction of a second. Unfortunately for Dean, his not-so-little brother was adept at catching the micro expressions that his brother so often overlooked; Dean was desperate to take the Wochowsen down, but Sam couldn't figure out why for the life of him. There was definitely something more there than simply wanting to get rid of a baddie.

"Why do you care so much about this, Dean? What aren't you telling me?"

It was a long shot and Sam knew he had close to no chance of getting his brother to explain things, especially now. They were too out in the open - too exposed. Although always the tough guy, Dean was a lot more sensitive than he let on. In fact, Sam was certain that Dean put on the whole James Dean bravado to keep everything at a safe distance. The act was Dean's emotional teddy bear to keep himself from anything that could tear him apart from the inside out.

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean said with a tone that begged to differ.

"Dean, you can't hide it from me forever," Sam replied with genuine concern.

Dean looked up at his brother and knew his face was heavy with the secret he was carrying. He wanted to tell Sam everything. He honestly and truthfully did, but to hear the words leave his mouth would make everything that happened _real_. He wasn't ready for real. Not yet. Not when denial could still make everything disappear. He could feel his muscles freezing into the practiced mask he wore everyday since their mother had been killed before he dropped his gaze.

"Just let it go, Sam."

Sam watched as the window he had propped open suddenly slammed shut. He had lost his chance to get anything out of his brother and he'd just have to wait. It was frustrating to watch his brother beat himself up over whatever it was that was bothering him. Knowing Dean, he would never let it go. He had a hard time forgiving himself more times than not.

"Fine," he said with as much understanding as he could muster before he checked the rounds in his shotgun. The weapon clicked loudly as it snapped back together and Sam nodded at his brother. The duo took off without another word.

* * *

Sam was panic stricken as he wound his way through the town that had stood so defiantly in the face of time only yesterday. There was debris and destruction everywhere he turned in many varying degrees. The storm - now complete with thunder, lightning and wind that signaled a full blown battle - had wrapped itself around the town and wasn't making anything any better. They had wasted nearly an hour just trying to navigate the town already and his patience was wearing thin.

After the little showdown by the Impala, Sam had made an itinerary that he was determined to stick to, if only for Dean's sake. He just wanted to get into the Wochowsen's nest, get the bow that Aaron needed and get Dean back to the hotel. His brother was definitely looking worse for wear.

A string of colorful curses spouted from Sam as he led the charge down yet another blocked alleyway that had been clear yesterday. The route to the northern end of town, the one that had been so easy to find yesterday, was now blocked at so many locations that it was grating against Sam's nerves. At least this time, what looked to be an entire wall that had turned on its side blocked their progress. It was refreshing in only a way that a frustrated Sam would find as such.

Rain came down on the hunting duo in buckets as they backtracked their way through the maze of a town once again. The thunder and lightning of this storm had been the most intense they had experienced since this whole situation began. Dean was almost positive that it was because Aaron no longer needed to keep his identity a secret and he didn't need to hold back. If the ridiculous amount of water pouring down on them was any evidence at all, he wasn't making an effort to hold back either.

Sam had taken point without any complaint from Dean, which worried the youngest Winchester a tiny bit. Its not that Dean never let Sam take the lead, but usually Dean had a thing or two to say about it. Lack of comment meant Dean was feeling worse than he was willing to say out loud.

"Dean! Let's take a minute to regroup," Sam called out over the sound of the falling rain as lightning streaked the sky at a distance. They didn't need to reform plans; Sam just knew Dean needed a minute to rest. Thunder rippled the air. The fight was getting intense.

Dean panted heavily against the exertion that had become walking, causing his side to ache and sting fiercely, and shook his head 'no'. It was an action he regretted as it caused forks of mind numbing pain to shoot through his brain. He just couldn't win today. As if to emphasize that particular point, his vision blurred momentarily and he staggered forward.

Sam's grip was tight on his arm in seconds and although Dean glared up at his brother, he welcomed the support. He blinked a few times, bottling up his discomfort and clearing the water from his eyes before he shrugged off his brother's touch.

"Let's keep moving," Dean said as loud as he dared. Even the bit of effort it took to push his voice to the slightly louder volume was wracking his ribs painfully. He forced his face to remain completely devoid of discomfort, but he was fairly certain that his right arm around his torso gave away the details he wanted to hide. At least he could carry his favorite sawed-off in his left hand with no problem.

Dean waited for his brother to pass him, ignoring the critical glance, and watched as he kept his gun at the ready the entire time; Sam was a few inches away before the older Winchester allowed a crack in the mask he had created. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, a welcome relief against the rain, and shifted himself so he was leaning against the wall of the building behind him. He needed to keep going. He couldn't stop until this was over. All those innocent people…

With a sudden flare of determination, Dean clenched his jaw and opened his eyes. He didn't care how he came out of this one. Torn, battered, bruised, whatever. He was pretty banged up already and that was nothing new. He'd go to the ends of the earth to keep Sam safe too, but what Dean really wanted was the safety of the innocent souls caught in the melee this time. It was his ticket to redemption, personal or otherwise, if he could save more souls than he destroyed in Hell.

The two brothers pressed on, flinching at every clap of thunder, knowing that it was Aaron screaming (literally) right over head. Of course, where ever Aaron was, they also knew that meant his counterpart was there with him. The evil Wochowsen was somewhere just out of eyesight too.

Dean felt the shiver ripple through him at the thought of that massive evil bird flying through the air. However, he shoved the thought somewhere deep inside of himself to keep his feet moving forward. He was so relieved once he saw that they had reached the edge of Aurora at long last.

"So here's the plan," Dean said with a cocky grin. Sam rolled his eyes in response. They both knew there was no plan. They just needed to grab the bow and run like hell.

"Lemme guess," Sam cut in as the brothers walked amiably into the tangle of desert oasis with eyes peeled for evidence of a nest, "get in, get out, leave town?"

Dean smiled in earnest as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, grunting with the twinge it sent to his burning side, and he said, "Wow, Sam. Its almost like you've done this before."

"Gee, Dean, you think?" Sam asked with as much jest as he could muster He had seen Dean flinch and didn't like it one bit, but he also knew better than to mention it.

An eerie calm was settling over the brothers as they continued into what was rapidly becoming a thicket of desert growth. Even the rain was starting to back off which was probably attributed to the tree branches that sprouted overhead. All in all, what they were walking through was anything but normal. They must be getting closer.

Dean turned, the twist in his torso flaring the pain in his ribs that had receded, and was shocked to see the storm that twisted angrily above the ghost town. If he squinted just right, he could see a line where the rain suddenly ended like it was contained in a glass box.

"And I thought we were dry 'cuz of the trees," he mumbled.

Sam turned to ask his brother to repeat himself, but caught the same bizarre distinction between wet and dry himself. His steps halted, causing Dean to run into him and impact against the heaviest part of his bruised torso.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelped, dropping his gun and curling in on himself. This, of course, set off flares of bright light behind his eyes as his head fought for attention again. Oh, was Sam going to pay for this one.

"Crap," Sam said, ducking down to Dean's level, "Dean, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

"S'ok, Sam," Dean interrupted, gasping as he forced himself to straighten up, "Just remember…"

Sam's face twisted in confusion, the question being asked without any words being said.

"Payback's a bitch and so are you," Dean said with some note of provocation. He stooped to pick up his firearm with a groan sticking to his throat at the effort. He knew his face was giving up all the juicy secrets he wanted to keep about his pain starting to get the best of him and he was glad to see Sam wasn't going to comment on the situation.

"Jerk," Sam shot back, turning on his heel and walking farther into the oasis. It was easier for him to ignore his brother's efforts to throw a cork in his little bottle of hurt if he couldn't see it.

"Pansy," Dean growled, trekking after his brother with as much speed as he could muster. He nearly tripped over Sam again, sending him into another frenzy of cussing, as his brother ducked under a heavy overhang of twisted vines in inspection.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam grumbled as he dropped lower and disappeared under the vines.

"Where the hell you going?" Dean asked.

"Into the nest," Sam called back from somewhere a few feet farther ahead than he had been moments ago.

Dean checked his back, a habit he had developed through years of hunting, before moving aside the draping vines with his arm. He was completely shocked by the sight that met his eyes. It was definitely a nest, but something about it felt like more. It was almost like a home.

_Home to a supernatural, flying terror,_ he chided himself.

Dean scooted himself inside, doing his best to ignore his head and ribs as they worked together to overthrow him. He wouldn't throw in the towel now though. He couldn't. They had found the nest, now all they had to do was find the bow and hightail it out of here.

The nest itself was far more tidy than either brother had expected it to be. Of course, there were enormous feathers scattered about, but that was really the only sign of an animal living there. Droppings and food particles were nonexistent. Even little baubles - marbles for instance - were nowhere to be found. This meant one of two things: this creature simply had no interest because it preferred to go after living creatures like the carcasses Dean had run into yesterday _or_ this wasn't actually its nest.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said with a note of awe in his voice, "check this out."

Dean turned slowly away from the pile of wood he had found over in a dry corner of the little nest to look at whatever Sam was holding in his hand. It was slender and arched beautifully. The light color of its make was in stark contrast to the dark wood the nest was constructed out of. The most striking attribute, however, was the glow that seemed to come from the taught string that was laced between either end of the arch. It almost looked like it was made from gold.

"Is that…?" Dean asked as he slowly made his way across the nest to look at it from his brother's side.

Sam only nodded as he ran his hand up and down the beautifully made longbow. It was smooth as glass despite the etchings that should have put deep grooves into the wood. A few of the symbols, Sam recognized from his night of insomnia laced research. He smiled a bit and touched each symbol as he recalled their meanings.

"This is definitely it, Dean," Sam said as he pointed to a simplistic rendering of a human figure, "This here means 'man'."

His eyes danced over the bow as he pointed at another pictogram, "And this cross means crossing paths. A uh…juncture. I guess."

Dean processed the information, more or less letting Sam ramble on to humor him. He honestly couldn't really care less. They found what they wanted, so they should probably just take it and head back to Aaron. A few minutes couldn't hurt though.

"Okay, Tonto," Dean said with a challenge buried in his voice, "If you're so clever, what does that one mean?"

Dean ran his finger over a picture of an arrow snapped in half with the pointed tip and feathered end both angled downwards. Ironically enough, this symbol rested just below the point were an actual arrow, once knocked properly, would rest.

Sam squinted at it, his brow wrinkling in a look that Dean recognized from years ago when his brother would agonize over his algebra homework. The flash of comprehension that hit his brother's eyes seconds later was the same look he got all his life too.

"I think that one means peace," Sam said finally, looking at Dean.

"Huh. Alright. I take it back," Dean said pacing around the nest that was more

like a cave, "You're not Tonto."

Sam arched an eyebrow at his brother taking the bait regardless of the answer.

"You're a regular Nancy Drew," Dean quirked. Sam shook his head and sighed in irritation.

"Besides, you'd think they'd use something cooler than a broken arrow," Dean commented, not catching his brother's eyes.

"Cooler, Dean?"

"Yea, cooler," he said, stepping away from his brother and scuffing his foot over a patch of dirt that looked blackened, almost as if a fire had been lit there, "Like…you know."

Sam looked up as Dean flashed his pointer and middle fingers at Sam in a great V shape. Suddenly, Sam had an image of his brother with long hair and a fringed vest and he had to look away to keep his laughter in check.

"A peace sign? Really, Dean? You think that Native Americans are a bunch of what? Hippies?"

Dean rolled his eyes, turned his hand so the back was to his brother and lowered his pointer finger. "Better, smartass?"

"Lots," Sam said, less than thrilled to be getting the finger from his brother once again.

Dean turned his attention back to the blackened floor. Something wasn't sitting right with him. Years of honing his hunter's instincts told him to look into it deeper, but Sam's voice distracted him from his thoughts.

"Alright, we got the bow," he said standing, "You ready to blow this pop stand?"

"Thought you'd never ask, Sammy," Dean said with a smile.

Turning to the only exit, the brother's began their departure when a strong gust of wind suddenly raced over head. Both brother protected their eyes as sand and other bits of debris began to fly into the nest. However, what flew in next surprised both brothers.

It was a woman. A woman that looked like she had gotten caught in the storm and was about to collapse.

Dean was the first at her side. After all, she was quite attractive and Dean wouldn't let the black haired beauty fall to the ground, regardless of the state of his own body. He slipped a hand under her arm and around her small frame, wincing as she wrapped her trembling body around his torso.

"You alright there, sweetheart?" Dean asked gently, earning a snort from Sam. He shot his brother a look as he continued, "What's your name?"

The woman in Dean's arms shivered a bit and Dean motioned with his head towards the wood pile in the corner opposite Sam. He was reluctant to leave the young woman's side for more selfish reasons. However, Sam didn't miss the hint and the younger Winchester carefully leaned the bow against the side of the nest wall where had found it to work his way over to the tinder. They needed to get a fire going, even if it was only a small one.

Dean shook the woman gently - refusing to grunt with the motion - and spoke to her again, "Hey. You hear me?"

The woman stirred, her eyes fluttering as she looked up to her rescuer. Her eyes were a deep brown to the point that they were almost black. Dean flinched a bit at the sight, reminded momentarily of the absolute black of a demon's eyes before he realized this woman had just been blown in here from a storm. Even if she was a demon bent on the destruction of himself and his brother, the human body she was wearing around for an extended Halloween needed warmth.

"Yea," she mumbled back to Dean as she let go of the man and stood under her own steam once again.

"What's your name?" Dean asked again, wrapping his arm around his middle once she was out of his grip.

The woman looked around and walked over to the center of the room where Sam was getting a small fire going. Her voice was soft and light as she spoke, "I'm Gail."

A shiver ran down Sam's back as this woman spoke - spurred on by more than just the airy quality of her voice - and he forced himself to take in her appearance with the wary eyes of a seasoned hunter. She had a small frame and was probably no taller than about five foot six. She was trim and looked as if she could be a trained runner, but she was definitely not lethal. Her coat was soaked through and seemed to sparkle in certain places in the dim firelight that was beginning to fill the room.

"We should get you out of that coat," Sam said softly, reaching out to push away the fabric.

Gail immediately recoiled, something both Sam and Dean were shocked by, and spoke quickly, "S-sorry. Its just…it's the only thing I have left of my husband…"

Sam smiled sadly understanding her motivation. It had taken Sam nearly two years before he could get himself to throw away one of Jess's old t-shirts. He knew there was no rational need to hold on to it, but he was only willing to let it go after Dean had almost discovered it once. The ridicule would've been horrendous for that one.

A melancholy sadness that hung in the air for a few moments before Dean tried to break it with a poorly timed joke.

"So I take it you're single then?" he asked more for Sam's benefit than his own. He could tell his brother was a little smitten with this woman and he needed the action. Besides, Dean had a waitress waiting for him once this whole thing was over.

Gail and Sam stared at him incredulously, wiping the playful smirk right off of his face. He awkwardly cleared his throat and flashed his eyebrows at his brother. It was a signal Sam knew from many other interviews.

"Uhhh, so what happened?" Sam asked, and met Gail's gaze which was filled with frazzled confusion. He clarified his question with a gentle tone, "To your husband."

Gail inhaled deeply and let out the same air in a quick exhale and a gentle laugh. It was odd, but Sam instantly recognized the action as a sign of mourning. It was the way he had acted when he had first lost Jess.

"He. He um," Gail tried as tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill. She looked to Dean for comfort, but the elder Winchester was leaning against a particularly thick branch used in the nest wall and doing everything he could to avoid her eye contact. The whole emotionally wrecked chick thing was Sam's bag, not his.

"I take it he's…not with us anymore," Sam said gently and wasn't surprised to see Gail nod slightly.

"He was killed," she said, wiping at her cheeks, "By lightning. It was a freak accident."

Sam noticed the way her words had become bitter, almost spiteful as she spoke. A gnawing sensation was filling his intuition, but he kept his face even as he continued to talk to her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said as he added thicker pieces of wood to the fire, "How did you wind up here with us?"

She took a deep breath and shrugged herself closer to the warmth of the fire as she spoke, "I was out hiking. Its something I do a few times a week out this way. Its out of the way, you know? Then this huge storm kicks up and I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of me because of all the rain. I was just lucky I found this little place."

Sam cast his brother a glance that said a multitude of things at once. Obviously Gail had been caught in the battle between the Thunderbird and the Wochowsen. She was lucky that nothing more severe had happened like having the Wochowsen grab her itself, but something still felt off about this situation. Why hadn't more people been directly effected like Gail? Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Good thing you found us," Sam said with a cheerful smile. He left Gail at the fire as he stood and walked over to Dean. He was just about to vocalize something about his growing suspicion and the strange way Gail had just suddenly appeared with a gust of wind when there was a rustling noise outside. Dean froze and pushed his brother aside, his shot gun at the ready.

More rustling filled the air, much closer than last time, and Dean aimed his weapon at the entrance to the nest. He knew that was exactly where this thing was headed now.

"Easy, friend," said the familiar voice as Dean slowly lowered his gun and Aaron walked in through the front door.

"Aaron?" Sam asked, completely shocked at the turn of events, "What the heck are you doing here?"

"You must get away," he began as he rushed into the nest, "There isn't time to…"

Aaron stopped short as he entered the nest and took a sweeping gaze around. Dean studied the man intently as Sam stalked over to the fire burning in the center of the nest to add a few more twigs to the flames. He didn't care how useless that would probably be.

"Friends, we need to leave," Aaron said.

Gail stood slowly with a snide grin on her face as she turned, "And why is that, Aaron?"

Dean looked from Gail to Aaron and back again as he spoke, "You two know each other?"

"You can say that," Gail said, suddenly much more confident and much stronger than she had been moments ago.

Dean was getting a bad feeling about this situation. Very bad, in fact. Things were starting to add up nicely in his head. However, instead of voicing his concern out loud, he chose to steal into the shadows and inch his way closer to Gail. If what he suspected was correct, they would need to get her jacket away from her before she realized they were any the wiser.

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**A/N:** Another chapter done! yay! I hope you all are enjoying this! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE review!

xoTrebleMaker


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Still Kripke's characters, not mine. And I borrowed the Thunderbird legend too...

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An uneasy silence settled over the odd gathering as Sam and Dean bounced their gazes from Gail to Aaron as though they were watching a tennis match despite the fact that not a word had been uttered. Sam could feel the tension in the air hovering like a thick fog. There was something more than plain old sibling rivalry at work here. There were a few secrets that weren't yet on display, but Sam knew it would settle the last few puzzle pieces into place. He just needed to figure out how to get the information.

The younger Winchester feigned disinterest as Dean slowly faded into the background and waited. Sam didn't want any attention to settle on his brother, but at the same time he needed to be aware of his presence at all times. He needed to stay on guard for both of their sakes. Its not like his brother would be able to fully protect himself if something severe were to happen. No, Sam had to watch himself and his brother for them to make it out of this in one piece.

Sam watched - feeling incredibly vulnerable out in the open with his shotgun lying somewhere near the bow in the corner - as the siblings simmered with what could only be angst and undeniable amount of distrust. Aaron hadn't moved much farther into the nest since his arrival and if it weren't for the firelight, Sam wouldn't have been able to make out more than his outline against the light trickling in from between the vines obscuring the entrance behind him. He shifted his weight, placing one knee against the ground with his other raised, to release the tension in his muscles from holding his crouched position for so long.

Dean slowly, imperceptibly, began to shift himself towards the wall of the nest while keeping his eyes trained on Gail. He wanted to make his way over to her and keep himself within arm's reach so he could pounce if the need arose. Somehow, he knew it would; his hunter's instincts were never wrong.

The elder Winchester watched as Aaron's internal struggle slowly began to leak into the room and he swore he could hear a rumble of thunder somewhere outside. Maybe emotions could dictate the storm just as much as Aaron roving the skies could; then again, it could also be a natural storm for once. Dean was pretty sure that could still happen.

Dean was just beginning to make some real progress across the confined space when Aaron's next statement stopped him in his tracks.

"Good to see you again, sister."

Slowly, so as not to be detected, his gaze turned towards Sam. He needed to make sure he had heard correctly and based on the way Sam's gaze darted from where Dean had pressed himself against the wall to the supernatural siblings staring daggers at each other, he knew he had heard right.

"Wait, not only do you know each other…you're family?" Sam asked with heavy skepticism.

Sure, he had grown up knowing things that weren't supposed to exist actually did…and recently he had added the Thunderbird to that list of things. He just didn't think there was a genetic link to legends like this, let alone of this magnitude and to such varying degrees. Did the Y chromosome determine a good natured Thunderbird and the double X determine an evil Wochowsen? His head hurt just trying to analyze the data.

"Oh yes," Gail replied, shifting her dark, threatening gaze from Aaron to Sam, "He's my twin brother."

_Great. The supernatural wonder twins, _Dean thought to himself in frustration.

Sam gulped at the intense scrutiny he suddenly found himself under as he worked to digest the newest piece of information. He found himself completely enthralled by her eyes - the gaze that gave away all the information he hadn't thought to search for before. Of course, Gail had to be the Wochowsen. The jacket, clearly sparkling due to rain drenched feathers, and the Native American features only hinted at what she could be. Her eyes, however, told him everything he could have wanted to know.

He studied her eyes intently, noting the resemblance in color to that of liquid earth. They were definitely a rich shade of brown, but there was almost a smoldering magma red color glinting beneath it as if it were caged. That's when realized that the pigment _was_ trapped there; the horrendous thing that Gail could become trapped within her eyes just as much as it was actually trapped within her human body.

The longer Sam looked, the more her soul seemed to open before him and the younger Winchester was surprised to find much suffering buried under layers of intense, complicated emotions. He leafed through them stumbling across the compassion that she had for life and for love; however, he was surprised to see that it swirled violently with bitter resentment and betrayal. He could practically feel it clawing away it her being and he knew what she was going through. It was something Sam struggled with on a daily basis - the juxtaposition of who he knew he was and the _thing_ that hovered below the surface and threatened to unhinge everything he held dear. Gail was just as torn up over her darker nature as Sam was about his own.

The younger Winchester felt a jolt of surprise as her cold visage softened a bit under his silvery green gaze, which was leaving the portal to her core and entering the superficial state of simply seeing her as a woman once again.

Sam broke eye contact with her, embarrassed and suddenly very much aware of how much she must be reading into him as he read into her. He flicked a glance back to her and wasn't surprised to find the carefully composed façade of cruelty plastered over her features once again. He knew that what he had found was carefully hidden once again just as his secrets were buried deep within himself once more.

Dean watched the bizarre staring contest between his brother and the evil thing in its human form with a mix of curiosity and disgust. He couldn't see Sam's face, but he knew his brother was learning a lot about Gail. It was one of his younger brother's natural gifts - reading people. Dean was pretty good at it too, but it was a skill he had honed through practice whereas Sam had born with the innate ability to comprehend people in general.

Dean let his gaze shift to Aaron who was trying valiantly not to notice him or the way he was creeping along the wall. Dean knew just from the man's stance that he was definitely the older brother, despite the shared birthday. The way Aaron tensed as Sam watched his sister screamed protective older brother. It was something Dean knew he was guilty of when it came to his own family - when it came to his Sammy.

Dean's face hardened as he knew what he had to do. He changed his game plan and continued to creep along the wall, aiming for the bow that leaned next to Sam's shotgun with the intent of arming it. He knew the struggle Aaron would be and was probably already contemplating, because Dean lived the dilemma everyday himself.

_If you can't save Sam, you'll have to kill him. Dean, promise me._

He closed his eyes as the pleading tone of his father's usually gruff voice drifted back to him. He hadn't forgotten his promise and he wouldn't go back on his word; his stubborn Winchester pride, however, was completely determined to save his baby brother. Sam was the only family he had left and he'd be hard pressed to sever that tie. He needed Sam as much as Sam needed him.

A sudden spark leapt from the fire, the crackling noise breaking Dean from his thoughts and startling Aaron enough to jump slightly. He inched his way backwards a bit more, finally even with Gail as he willed himself to remain unnoticed. He never saw the golden glow that however behind the surface of Aaron's eyes.

As Gail returned her attention to her twin, Sam let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and risked a glimpse of his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean scowled at him and used his head to gesture Sam back to the siblings in front of him. The younger Winchester's gaze returned quickly and only just barely quick enough.

"You can't stop me," Gail said with venom, "I know its what you want, but you can't do it."

Sam swallowed and settled his face into a practiced state of calm. His voice was firm as he asked, "What makes you so sure we're trying to stop you?"

The laughter that tumbled from her lips was enough to make both Winchesters shiver as their nerves turned their blood to ice. She was taking delight in this - their uncertainty of everything that was happening. It wasn't like demons in the past hadn't done the same, but this was a whole new level of creepy.

"You want the storms to stop, right? Because the winds are destroying towns and wrecking lives, right?" she asked Sam. He only nodded in response.

"Sister, you know this must stop," replied Aaron with a pleading tone, "You cannot tangle more innocent lives into our fighting."

"I guess you should've thought of that before you killed my husband!" Gail spat viciously, rising to her feet and squaring her shoulders towards her brother.

The air suddenly became heavy once again as even the breeze outside seemed to hold its breath in much the same way Sam and Dean did with Gail's declaration. Dean, however, pried himself from the drama of the situation and put his mind to the task at hand. Again, the elder Winchester was reminded of how the emotions of the twins might be controlling the weather. Now that Gail seemed to be doing it too, he knew he probably wasn't that far from the truth.

With a few more steps placed cautiously and quietly, Dean was elated to see that he was close enough to the bow to start reaching for it. His eyes searched the area near it looking for a quiver or at least some sort of arrow, but was disappointed when he couldn't' find anything. Despite that minor defeat, he began to lean towards the weapon, his ribs protesting even louder thanks to his run in with Sam earlier. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud and hoped his head didn't start throbbing any worse than it was already. He wouldn't be able to keep himself in check if it did.

Although Dean had managed to tear himself away from the situation at hand, Sam had been unable to separate himself from the drama. His heart was hammering in his chest at the thought of Aaron, the one that he thought he could trust, was pointed out to be a murderer. Sam couldn't help but think that maybe they were helping the wrong being. Maybe Gail was the one that needed the bow to make things right.

"Sister, I did not mean for it to happen," Aaron intoned with sympathy, "He got in the way."

"Got in the way? _He _got in the way? What about you? You weren't even supposed to be there!" Gail practically screamed. More wind kicked up outside with her agitation.

Aaron swallowed thickly as the guilt washed over him. His voice was strained with emotion as he spoke, "You were churning up tornadoes and dirt devils. I had to get them in check!"

"You killed my children's father!" she shot back.

Gail tensed and although her face was hidden from view, Sam knew that her face was drenched in anger and probably a bit of self-loathing. It was the same thing Sam felt for himself whenever he had a vision or took a hit of demon blood. He knew what he was doing was for the greater good - or at least he tried to believe it - but it made him feel so incredibly guilty. The groan and soft clatter that came from somewhere behind the younger Winchester, however, interrupted his thoughts as well as the argument before him.

"Dean," Sam said sharply as he turned. He wasn't completely surprised to see the bow on the ground next to his brother. He wasn't completely surprised, he admitted to himself with some regret, to find Dean standing hunched awkwardly with his eyes squeezed shut and his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Sam was by his side in a heartbeat.

"Dude," Dean said hoarsely as he eyed his brother's worry with annoyance, "What'd I say about chick flick moments?"

Sam allowed a weak smile to cross his features. At least Dean was still making an effort to put up a good front.

"Get away from the bow."

Gail's tone was once again icily menacing, although its target was new. Dean looked past his brother's shoulder to see the woman staring at him. The angry red fire that had been buried in her eyes flared wildly as the wind ripped around outside. However, it wasn't the glare that had Dean cringing. It was the large, jagged spearhead that she held in her hands that caught his attention.

"Gail, leave him out of this," Aaron said, taking a step forward with his hands in the air. He prayed that it would be enough to dissuade his sister from harming another innocent.

Gail slashed at the air near her twin, halting his progress. She hissed her words at him, feeling like a tiger trapped in a cage, "Not if he threatens my life."

Dean moved quickly, making an attempt to grab the bow once again but was stopped short by the stab of pain in his side from his injured rib muscles. He slammed his eyelids shut and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, not at all surprised to find Gail advancing on him and Sam with the spearhead once again. Aaron was hot on her trail.

Everything happened so quickly, it was nearly impossible to discern one moment from the next. Aaron grabbed his sister, pinning her arms to her sides as he held her tight as Sam simultaneously saw the opportunity and grabbed the sacred weapon off the floor. Aaron shouted orders to get out of the nest and run as Sam searched frantically for an arrow or anything closely resembling one to fire at Gail and end the struggle.

Dean pushed at his brother, shouting orders to get outside with the bow, but one shove from Sam - meaning only to push his brother towards the exit - jostled the elder Winchester and tilted the room as a fresh wave of pain washed through him with a new vengeance.

There was a shout, unmistakably masculine, as Gail managed to maneuver herself in her brother's grip enough to swipe at him with the spear head. She missed by mere centimeters, but it gave her enough time to advance on Sam.

"NO!" Dean shouted, fighting through the anguished outrage of his head and ribs.

Gail slashed viciously at the younger Winchester and managed to slice a few shallow cuts along his chest and the hand that held the bow despite Sam's agile dodges. He winced at the stinging sensation caused by each little tear, but his focus was on the spearhead in her hands. The sharpened rock looked ancient.

Dean blinked a few times, trying to right the room, and took a few unsteady steps towards his brother. His heart leapt to his throat, however, as Sam yelled loudly and dropped to his knees, taking the weapon with him. Gail grabbed the spearhead, which she had deftly plunged into Sam's thigh, and yanked it from her victim. The resounding yell did more to sober Dean in that single second that anything else had all day.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Dean staggered to get between Sam and Gail; he felt the gentle tug of his younger brother using his shoulder for leverage as he stood, but pushed Sam towards the exit as soon as he knew he was upright. He knew he shouted a terse "Leave!" as he watched Gail zip her jacket. Dean saw Sam being dragged out of the nest by Aaron's tight grip on his brother's arm. Knowing his brother would be safe, Dean turned his attention back to Gail's actions and was terrified to see she had nearly completed her transformation.

Her spear head, now glinting with a cherry red shine, clattered to the floor forgotten as her eyes began to glow with an intense crimson light and Dean leaped forward to tackle her to the ground as she threw her hood over her head; he knew somewhere mid-tackle that he was too late.

Time froze completely as a terrible screech filled the air, sounding as though wind were tearing apart the very fabric of time. A fierce spiral kicked up within the nest, throwing the already airborne Dean flying into a few thick branches embedded in the nest wall. As his lower body made contact, however, his left leg tore through the branches and implanted itself there, taking all of Dean's weight as the rest of his body tumbled towards the ground. Fortunately, his shoulders hit the floor and took the weight off his leg before any serious damage could be done. He struggled to free himself, as the wind slowly died down to a dull roar.

There was an eerie calm settling in and Dean twisted himself, still working to free his leg, in an effort to see where the Wochowsen had gone. He swallowed thickly and watched as the immense bird slowly strutted towards him, ducking its head to stay within its home. There was a feral glint to her eyes that had been missing earlier and Dean was suddenly very afraid for his life.

He swore he could almost see the menacing grin on her hooked beak as she raised her right foot and pressed it against his body. He felt the snap of a rib and knew he yelled, but the twisting snap of his leg that followed drowned out all other sensations. The only thing he could actually hear from that point forward was the rushing roar of his blood pressure spiking at the intense pain. The last thing Dean remembered was the sensation of being lifted as the Wochowsen broke through the ceiling of her home. He could just make out the shape of Sam dwarfing against the desert before Dean succumbed to the pain free abyss of oblivion.

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**A/N: **WELL! Another chapter down! Some serious Dean whumpage, eh? Sorry this chapter was so much shorter than the others.  
ALSO! While I'm here, I want to give a special shout out to Sue Pokorny who's read and reviewed everything I've done with this story. Thanks! :)  
As for the rest of you... Please don't forget to REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!

xoTrebleMaker


	8. Chapter 8 & epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Guess who still owns the Winchesters?

Also, sorry this chapter is so exceedingly long compared to the last one...

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Sam pulled at Aaron's grasp, desperately trying to free himself. His body thrummed with the need to help his brother, the blind panic shooting to his very core and blocking out all other thoughts except to get Dean safely on the ground again. If he paused a moment to think, he would know how completely pointless it would be if Aaron actually liberated him. At this point, there was nothing he could do. Dean was in the Wochowsen's grasp, hanging limply like a rag doll once again and Sam was completely powerless to save his brother himself.

"DEAN!" Sam called uselessly, his voice grating harshly from his throat.

With a strong pull, Sam tore free of Aaron's grasp only to limp awkwardly a few paces before his right leg gave out beneath him. Sam barely registered the impact against his knees as his legs met the ground heavily, the bow still held tightly in his grasp.

"There's nothing _you_ can do, Sam," Aaron said softly, coming up behind the younger Winchester and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His tone lilted slightly as he continued, "Not unless you can sprout wings."

Sam's face scrunched up briefly and he snuffled as his panic fell away, leaving despair in its place. He would've laughed at Aaron's comment if he wasn't so distraught. His chest was beginning to ache and he wasn't sure if it was from the sudden lack of adrenaline or if it was the completely helpless feeling that caused it.

"He's… He just… I can't…" Sam stuttered awkwardly. His eyes stung from the emotions that threatened to usurp his tear ducts. He turned his gaze downwards, not really taking in anything in particular; he pursed his lips in frustration and tried to calm himself.

Sam had never felt so powerless in his life - not when Jess had been taken from him by Azazel or when the Trickster had trapped him in an unending loop of new and unique ways to watch Dean die . He wanted to yell, scream, cry, _anything_, but he couldn't shake off the shock of the situation to do anything more than feel bitterly and utterly useless.

_No chick flick moments, Sammy._

The voice echoed through his mind so suddenly that Sam had to physically force himself not to look for his brother. He took a few steadying breaths, using his brother's voice to fuel his need for calm as he placed the bow on the ground at his knees. His thigh began to whisper words of hurt to his brain somewhere during that time. Looking down, Sam marveled at the large blood stain that pasted the denim against his flesh. It was dark and slowly - ever so slowly - growing in size.

Sam shook his head and knew he needed to work quickly to staunch the bleeding of his newest stab wound. If he didn't, the blood loss would get the best of him and then what good would he be?

Sam shrugged off his jacket, shaking off Aaron's reassuring touch in the process. With a bit of effort, he managed to shift himself off his knees and sat on the ground, bending his right leg so that he could get a good look at the injury there. His fingertips pulled at the denim to get a better view and Sam grunted as the flesh moved with it. This would definitely need some stitches.

Aaron deftly ignored the man on the ground.

He felt uncomfortable. He wanted to help Sam, but he wasn't quite sure what he could do. He didn't have a first aid kit and he was by no means a magical creature. Sure, he was the Thunderbird. That in itself was "magic"… But it was a mixed blessing that didn't come with the added benefit of healing powers. There was nothing more he could do other than stir up storms and fulfill the destiny he had been born to live. He turned his back on Sam, slowly beginning to button his jacket. He knew it was time to end this.

Taking a breath, Sam balled up his jacket and prepared himself for what came next. Carefully positioning the fabric over the wound, Sam pressed down on the injury gently, testing his reaction to the pain. He hissed slightly and knew this was going to suck. He counted to three in his head and pressed down as hard as he could. His vision momentarily whiting out in response.

"Just be grateful she wasn't aiming to kill," Aaron murmured casually. His jacket was only halfway fastened, but he couldn't resist the call of his bow anymore. He picked it up gently and eyed it adoringly. Sam couldn't help but be reminded of the way Dean looked at the Impala. He pushed down on his leg a little harder to push Dean's face out of his head.

"Yea," Sam replied with a dark chuckle. He was grateful for Aaron's attempt at keeping everything light. It made everything seem less severe than it really was. He glanced at the man as he picked up the bow and Sam swore he saw it shimmer and wriggle momentarily in his grasp. He blinked a few times and when he looked again, the bow was rigid as though nothing had happened.

"That spear head looked ancient," Sam commented - shoving away what he thought he saw - as he pressed even more tightly against his leg. He groaned at the pressure.

Aaron nodded slightly, "Its at least as old as my bow. It might be older."

"So is it sacred like your weapon?" Sam asked vying for a distraction. Usually that was Dean's job - distracting him from the pain. It was something his brother had done since they were kids and Dean excelled at it. Sam grimaced and shut out thoughts of his brother; he had to take care of himself first.

"No," Aaron replied, "but it is passed down from generation to generation much like my bow. It is an heirloom for them. Nothing more."

Sam nodded in understanding and slowly began to peel his jacket away from the sticky wound on his leg. He hissed as the last bit of fabric came away, but was happy to see that the bleeding had stopped altogether. If he tied something around it, he'd be able to keep it closed until he could get stitches into it. Sam tore at his t-shirt, ripping off a sleeve and stretching the fabric so he could tie it around his leg securely.

A soft rain began to fall and Sam looked at Aaron, whose head hung heavily with grief. It wasn't a look that dictated sadness for something that had happened; it was a look that warned of the sadness that was yet to come.

"You have to kill your sister, don't you?" Sam asked with as much sympathy as he could muster for the beast that had taken his brother. After all, she _was_ (technically, at least) human.

"She wasn't always like this," Aaron said, shaking his head as bitter tears threatened to spill from his eyes. His voice quavered as he continued to speak, "She understood her boundaries, before the inevitable happened."

Sam watched as Aaron's gaze scanned the clouds above him for signs of his sister. The man had placed his bow at his feet and was fingering the buttons of his overcoat nervously - hesitantly even. It was clear that part of him - the legendary part - wanted to take to the sky, while another part - the human part - wanted to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground. It was painful to watch.

"She… She's not a monster," Aaron said heavily and eyed Sam cautiously, expecting him to laugh. When he saw that Sam was taking this with the seriousness it deserved, he continued, "The Wochowsen is only a counterpart to the Thunderbird. It provides the winds to the storms that the Thunderbird cannot. It destroys what the Thunderbird is fated to protect."

"Protect things like your brother-in-law?" asked Sam skeptically. He hadn't meant his words to be so bitter, but he was having a hard time understanding how the Thunderbird was any less destructive than the Wochowsen - especially after Dean had been taken a second time.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he began. He spoke quickly as he felt the pressing need to take to the sky, "but if I hadn't…"

Aaron let his words trail off as memories flooded back to him, replaced by alternate endings and what-if scenarios. His voice was hardened when he said, "She needed to be stopped. Still needs to be stopped. She's lost her humanity."

"What?" Sam asked, not understanding.

Another rumble of thunder followed by a vicious gust of wind from overhead distracted both men momentarily as Gail swept into view just below the clouds, Dean still in tow. Although only a few minutes had passed, it felt closer to years and Sam knew they needed to do something and do it soon.

"Sam, I wish I had time to explain it fully," Aaron said hastily. He was having a hard time resisting his purpose. He worked at the buttons on his coat again as he continued to speak, "She's changing the balance. Destroying things as she sees fit. I have to stop her."

Sam's brow wrinkled in thought, his mouth a thin line of contempt and concentration. Rain began to splatter the ground with dark dots of color as Sam fought to understand.

Aaron stilled his hands as he reached the last button on his jacket and spoke softly, "She tried to punish her husband for being unfaithful. When I got there, she had stirred a tornado so large that she would have wiped out the entire town. To stop her, I needed to break the unbalance. I _need_ to…"

Sam watched as Aaron stretched to his full human height and secured the last button. His form beginning to elongate as his voice became rough and animalistic once again.

"I had my bow then too. It is the only way that I can deal _any_ deadly blow. To the Wochowsen or whatever is unlucky enough to get in my way. However, it also ends my reign. That is why I only take it with me once the Wochowsen needs to be stopped."

"So, your place in this world is to sacrifice yourself to stop the Wochowsen?" asked Sam, finally understanding the heavy burden laid upon this man.

"Yes," he responded as he began to lift his hood, "And if you want your brother back, you will let me go, friend."

Sam paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. He knew that this was Aaron's fate, just as his father's fate before him. It was the fate that rested on all of the Thunderbird's before them too.

"Who comes after you?" Sam asked, never once hearing Aaron mention a family of his own.

"Gail's sons," Aaron replied briskly, "Two. Adults now. Just starting families of their own. They already know their fates, friend. We are not as young as we appear."

Both men cringed as the Wochowsen shrieked somewhere overhead, once again obscured by the clouds that were beginning to swirl over the dessert. Sam looked at Aaron and a silent understanding passed between them. Grabbing the bow, Sam pushed himself to his feet and stood unsteadily as Aaron paused just as the hood of his jacket was about to slip into place.

"You need to find safety," Aaron said, "Find some place that can ground a tremendous bolt of lightning."

And with that, Aaron lowered his hood onto his head for the last time. There was a brilliant flash of light followed by a clap of thunder as the Thunderbird stood before the youngest Winchester with its beak open in an answering cry to his twin's.

Sam took a step forward, his leg shaking precariously beneath him and placed the bow into the Thunderbird's outstretched talon; he wanted to laugh at the ridiculous proportion of the now tiny longbow held in the enormous bird's grip, but he refrained.

Sam hobbled backwards quickly as the bow began to tremble, stretch and sway in the Thunderbird's grasp. With a faint gasp, Sam saw at once why the legends conflicted over the Thunderbird's accomplice as Aaron took off into the sky.

In his grip was a majestic serpent that seemed to glow golden just as the string had done on the longbow. Its eyes were closed, looking as though it were sleeping peacefully in the Thunderbird's grasp. A smile began to curl on the youngest Winchester's lips as he watched the snake dangle; both its tail and its snout facing the ground much in the same way the broken arrow symbol had on the etching along the bow.

"Peace," Sam mumbled to himself as he watched Aaron soar away into the sky.

* * *

The stormy air was cold, damp and harsh, working its chilly fingers between the feathers of both great birds' wings as they soared in the air. Neither creature could look at the other quite yet, hoping to prolong the inevitable. They both knew, however, that in the long run, it was futile. It would end today.

The Wochowsen continued to circle, creating jetties with casual flicks of her wings to carry her and her burden with minimal effort. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of the wind beneath her wings - the freedom that she had learned to cherish since she had first been attached to her destiny. Fragments of memories began to swim into view and a familiar warmth spread through her.

_A warm spring day. Laying in bed with a warm, squirming bundle heavy in her arms. Her first son, Collin, named after his father, moving in his confining blanket to stretch and yawn. Her husband stretched out beside her, in awe of the beautiful life they had created. He kissed her, softly and affectionately, whispering words of endearment in her ear. It was the happiest day of her life._

A bit of turbulence brought her back to the present, but as she straightened out, another memory pulled her away again.

_A cold winter day. Colin perched on her lap, wrapped in her arms as his tiny 3 year old limbs held onto the fragile bundle that napped in the warmth of a familiar blue blanket. It was the same one that Colin had been wrapped in as a baby, though he would never recognize it now._

"_Hewwo, bwuh-ver," cooed the little boy to the best of his ability. _

_It melted his mother's heart and she kissed the top of his head. It was her favorite memory, sharing the position with the memory she had enjoyed a moment before. It was the day she had brought home Oliver, her youngest son._

A rumble of thunder brought her back to the present and she swept her wings downward, creating a strong gust of wind in response. She shivered, her feathers bristling as her body tensed for what it knew was to come. It would all be over soon. She would be with her lover shortly.

Coasting along the rivers of air created by its counterpart, the Thunderbird soared with little effort. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, not from impending battle, but from impending doom. His life had been nothing if not full of suspense. Everything he knew had led to this moment - the watchfulness, the anticipation, the expectations.

His golden eyes narrowed as he summoned the memories he would need to steel his resolve. He summoned the destruction she had caused - the hate that was fueled by her loss of humanity. A dangerous glow began to radiate from the reptile in his talons as a vision of his last attempt at this floated to the surface.

_It had been a bitterly cold day. Rain had plummeted to the ground, casting the world outside into a white splattered haze. Anything caught outside had been lucky to see more than a few inches in front of their face. The rain was simply that harsh._

_He soared off the ground, looking for the Wochowsen, trying to sense her with his heightened awareness in the state he was in. It didn't take long for him to feel the familiar tug of ancient magic as the wind began to surge. He knew where she was without looking._

_His left wing dipped, turning him in a tight circle, as he came face to face with his sister in her inhuman form. She swatted the air, fierce screeches forcefully leaving her gullet as she continued to churn the wind to her will. The vortex she was creating was abysmal and larger than anything the Thunderbird had ever seen._

A much diluted version of that same screech momentarily filled the air as the Thunderbird and Wochowsen continued to circle each other. He allowed himself to finish his vision, knowing the reaction it would have with his mystical accomplice.

_The tornado tore through the air, growing and stretching towards the earth as Sisiyuta, the golden snake, began to stir to life in his talons. He could feel the thrum of its ancient power sapping strength from him, but he knew this was his destiny. He could not turn back now._

_Sisiyuta's eyes opened with a terrible blue glow and searched out the Wochowsen. It flicked its tongue, tasting the air for the telltale scent of its evil presence. A screech tore through the air and the serpent's head followed the noise. There was a pause and a ripple, pulling energy from the Thunderbird into Sisiyuta as a lethal bolt of lightning shot from the serpents eyes, tearing through the tornado and ending its life. _

_The Wochowsen, however, dipped out of the way with only seconds to spare. Instead of finishing off the great beast, the lightning plummeted towards the earth. With a cry resounding, the Thunderbird could only watch in terror as a man, a mortal man, was struck by the blast, immediately ending his life._

The Thunderbird cried out at the painful memory, a rumble of thunder tearing through the air. He could feel the snake twitching to life in his grasp. He could feel his energy slowly draining from his body. He didn't have to glance down to know that Sisiyuta had awoken from her slumber.

He mulled over the memory of his lethal blow to his brother-in-law, asking the Great Spirit for forgiveness of his misdeed. He could still see his sister's face, strewn with tears at her loss. He felt the guilt and the self-loathing rip through his soul.

Anger bubbled up and overshadowed all else as the image of his sister stealing into his home and taking Sisiyuta from under his nose while he slept. He felt the thrum of his most powerful weapon and ally as he used his anger to fuel his courage. This had taken too long and needed to be finished.

They had lasted the longest of any duo - 55 years. Most generations were lucky if they lasted past 40 after their gifts were given in full. They usually had just long enough to start a family - to continue the cycle - before it was ended. It was cruel, but it was necessary to continue the line unless the Earth should perish without water from the storms. It was the way life would always be.

The great birds turned simultaneously, facing each other as they both beat their strong wings to stay in place. The balance was going to be restored. With open beaks, the cries of the great beasts intertwined and tattered the air around them. Sisiyuta opened her eyes fully, the blue glow filling the emptiness between them. Surrendering to their fates, the Wochowsen opened her talons and released the man from her grip as a great bolt of lightning jumped from the serpent's eyes and struck her heart.

* * *

Sam was panting heavily, leaning against the steering wheel of the Impala as sweat dripped over his body to mix with the rain that dripped from his hair and clothes. His thigh burned and twitched, angered by the exercise Sam had given it in order to get to safety - to the car. The stinging along the surface warned that the gash had opened again, the rain and sweat agitating the torn skin.

He wiped a hand over his face and leaned back, surveying the car as if it was the first time he had truly taken it in, and looked down at his rain drenched clothes. A squelching sound placed a smile on Sam's face as he shifted his weight against the seat and laughed through his exhaustion.

"Dean's gonna kill me," he muttered, remembering something about not damaging the upholstery while shaking his head and patting his pockets for the keys. Naturally, they were in his brother's pocket, not his own.

Sam rolled his eyes and watched as the storm above him intensified. There had been strong winds as he stumbled his way back to the Impala as quickly as he could move. Aaron had warned him to find shelter and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew a car was one of the safest places to be during a thunderstorm. The Impala jumped to mind and Sam couldn't help but wonder if Aaron had anticipated his thoughts. Maybe the prolonged storm was nothing more than Aaron buying time for him to get to safety.

Sam's thoughts wandered a bit to a middle school field trip, one of two Sam had ever been on in his entire student career. This trip had taken the young learners to a local science museum which had shown, among a multitude of other fascinating things, a giant Van der Graaf generator shooting sparks to metal poles buried into the ground.

At the time, Sam had been awestruck by the enormity of the machine and a little frightened by the intensity of the static it could create. Now, he was grateful that he remembered the trip at all, because it was at _that_ field trip that he had witnessed a man sit within a metal cage, touching it with his fingertips, as zaps of electricity danced about the outside of his prison. The charge could only stay on the outside meaning it couldn't penetrate through the metal of a car.

Sam was torn from his thoughts as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. He could feel the charge permeating the air and he yelped when the enormous blue beam of electricity made contact with the ground, shaking the Earth to her roots.

He grabbed the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and rode out the shock waves. He was glad he had made it back to the car. He was pretty sure that if he had managed to survive the electrical charge somewhere out there instead, the earthquake that followed would've killed him for sure.

As his breathing leveled and his heart fought to return to a normal pace, Sam's thoughts churned and a fresh wave of panic flooded his senses.

"Dean!" he cried out to no one in particular.

_Oh God, _he thought, _Dean. He couldn't have… But he can't be… Nonononononono._

Sam felt the wave of pain hit him hard. His chest ached just as badly as it had the night the hellhound had ripped his brother to pieces and Sam couldn't do anything more than hang from the wall and yell for Lilith to call it off.

Tears welled in his eyes as Sam thought of any logical scenario that could mean Dean's survival. If he was in the Wochowsen's grasp when the lightning struck, he'd die. If the Wochowsen let go, he'd fall and hit the earth resulting in death. Even if he somehow managed to survive the fall, the overflow of electrical energy would surely kill him as it struck the earth.

"No, he can't be," Sam moaned pitifully as tears began to tumble down his cheeks. It hurt like hell the first time he had lost his brother and he had hoped he wouldn't lose him for a long, long time still. He could feel his heart slowly breaking again.

Sam sniffled, wiping furiously at his eyes as he shifted around, knowing he'd have to hotwire the Impala if he wanted to get out of here. He chuckled sadly, a lump forming in his throat as he thought about what kind of ass-kicking Dean would dish out for the mere thought of his younger brother ripping through wires of his baby to get it running.

His fingers were just grazing the underside of the dash to get to the wires he needed when a golden light began to shimmer somewhere to Sam's left. He whipped his head around, completely startled by what he saw.

There, outside the window, was the Thunderbird glowing with an intense light the likes of which Sam had never seen before. He shifted upright, ripping open the driver's side door, and jumped out of the car. His heart just about leapt to his throat as he saw that the Thunderbird was there, and not only that, it was carrying two burdens instead of one.

In his left clawed foot, the snake lay once again either end facing the earth as it slumbered peacefully. In his other clawed appendage, dangled the limp form of his brother who's eyes were fluttering beneath his lids as though he were intensely dreaming.

"Dean!"

Sam rushed to the Thunderbird's glowing form, carefully supporting his brother's weight in his arms as the bird released his hold on the prone figure. There was a flash of light and suddenly Aaron was standing beside the Winchesters, his bow Sisiyuta in hand.

"Aaron?" Sam asked, his adrenaline pushing away all pain and fatigue, "But I thought you…"

Aaron held up his free hand and smiled. His voice was thin as he spoke, "I don't have much time. I am using the reserves of Sisiyuta's power."

He motioned to the bow as the confusion streamed from Sam's gaze and the Winchester nodded once his mind made the connection. The bow had more power than Sam had originally given it credit.

Without words, Aaron opened the rear door to the Impala and Sam placed his brother inside, careful not to jar his brother's leg which was turned at an odd angle. It was obviously broken.

"How did you…?" Sam tried to ask, but he was once again silenced by Aaron's hand.

"I am a protector," he said simply, "A guardian especially of hunters and warriors."

Sam smiled a small, thankful smile at the man before he turned and fished for the Impala's keys in his brother's jacket pocket. Dean had started to twitch, his eyes jumping beneath his lids more rapidly than they had earlier.

"He's gonna wake up soon. I gotta get him to the hospital. Thank you for…"

Sam turned towards Aaron and was shocked to see that he had vanished. There was no bow, no man and no evidence that anything had ever happened. Even the puddles that ordinarily followed the storms had completely and inexplicably vanished.

[the end]

* * *

**[epilogue]**

_The Polecat Motel_  
_Hawthorne, Nevada  
2:47am_

"C'rice, Sammy. You gonna. Um. Gonna smother me 'til 's thing comes 'soff?" Dean slurred out as he surfed the tidal wave of Demerol the friendly hospital staff had given him before the brothers were released.

He knew somewhere in his mind that he was in a lot of pain. Hell, he had even told Sam it hurt and then laughed about it which, of course, only made it worse and therefore made him laugh harder. The drugs in his system just made him forget to care about the excruciating throb in his leg and side.

Oh yea and the one in his head. Couldn't forget about the concussion too.

Dean looked up at Sam with glassy green eyes, a combination of exhaustion and the medication in his system working against him. Without warning, a wide smile broke out on his face. He chuckled once before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

"Dean, c'mon," Sam whined, having a hard time keeping his face even and his own laughter under control.

Dean had obviously taken the brunt of this hunt physically, but Sam had taken it emotionally. He was completely drained and wouldn't have felt like dealing with Dean on normal standards; Dean high as a kite was another story altogether.

The elder Winchester rubbed his rubs as the laughter subsided, subconscious instinct still working its way into the picture even as his mind ran away from the pain. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed with impatience as he held the car door open for his brother.

Sam forced himself to stay still despite the fact that his brother was struggling to get both himself and his pair of shiny new crutches out of the car on his own. It was obvious that he needed at least _some_ help to get his sorry ass out of the car and into the room, but far be it from Sam to suggest it.

Sam had been expecting the independent streak to start as soon as Dean had woken up in the backseat of the Impala on the way to the ER and he hadn't been disappointed.

At first, Dean had joked weakly - "Whoa, Sam. I just got the strangest feeling of déjà vu…" - before the shock of the situation combined with the adrenaline started to wear off and the full force of his pain set in. Digs and insults aimed at Sam came next but those quickly turned to anger over the wet clothes pressing against the leather interior of his precious car…

Which Sam took great pleasure in reminding him was there _again_.

For the second time.

In two days.

Dean had lost his cool at his younger brother's words and shifted to pull himself forward enough to get in his younger brother's face. However, Dean's face had drained completely of any color as his movement, sudden and without thought, jostled not only what was confirmed to be not 1 but 3 broken ribs, but also a broken tibia.

The remainder of the car ride had therefore contained a lot of banter once Dean had found his voice again. The pointless arguing had amused Sam greatly, especially when he started to gain the upper hand.

Unfortunately, the distraction had only worked until Sam had to slam on the breaks to avoid a careless driver that pulled out in front of him without actually checking for traffic. Dean's only complaint after being thrown towards the front of the Impala was a cantankerous declaration of "SONOFABITCH!" followed quickly by a "Samuel Winchester, I swear to God if you do that again I will kill you in your sleep. Slowly. With a plastic spoon."

Even more f-bombs and even a few pleading versions of "Sammy, please just shoot me now" filled up the rest of the conversation before the Winchesters made it to the Emergency Room entrance. Dean was taken away on a gurney as soon as they had pulled in; Sam, although clearly bleeding again and hobbling around, was left to fill in the medical forms with fraudulent information.

Sam was brought back to the present by the sensation of a stare boring into his forehead. Looking down, Sam saw Dean smiling with what could only be some kind of drug induced insult.

_Here we go,_ he thought.

"What?" asked the younger Winchester, his eyebrows raised in irritated interest.

"Nothin'…Satchmo," Dean said, his face wrinkling in confusion, "Tha's not right."

Sam grinned and spoke, "Did you mean Sasquatch, Dean?"

"Shuddup," Dean shot back sluggishly.

Finally giving into the ridiculousness of the situation, Sam allowed a snort of laughter to escape him, catching a glare and a few choice curses that were hardly distinguishable through the slurring of Dean's words.

"Just. Take your time, alright," Sam said, his fatigue finally getting the best of him as he left the car door open and walked with a slight limp to the chipped, red entrance of their room.

He fought with the lock a little before it gave way and Sam opened the motel room door. He made sure to shove the edge of the doormat under it to prop it open for his stubborn brother.

Sam sighed, taking the pill bottles out of his pocket before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it across his bed. Eight stitches poked out of the hole in his jeans as he sat himself on the edge of his bed. He gently ran his finger over them, feeling the tickle against his finger, but not his leg. He had forgotten how nice it was to get a shot of Novocain before having a needle pulled through his skin.

The scratches on Sam's chest and hand had been flushed and covered over with an ointment that made him wrinkle his nose, but at least all of his wounds were treated. Sam had felt oddly pampered by the hospital staff as they took care of him and his brother.

With a "whoosh" of air, Sam plopped back on his bed and just lay there for a few moments. He took a deep breath and raised his wrist, now baring Dean's watch after the hospital staff had asked his brother to remove it, and took in the time.

_Six hours,_ he told himself, _Six miserable hours._

Only 12 minutes of that time had been spent getting his brother _to_ the help he needed. Another 30 minutes or so had been spent getting his uncoordinated older brother into the car and back to the motel. Forty-two minutes accounted for, which left 5 hours and 18 minutes of sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs, filling out paperwork and being stitched back together in uncomfortable places by one cute blond nurse.

Sam blushed a little with that thought and wished he hadn't chickened out giving the young woman his number. He sighed and shoved away the thought. If he wasn't careful, he'd start loving and leaving just like Dean - besides if he needed a quick fix, he had Ruby.

Sam shoved that thought away, not willing to think about the nasty little secret he had been keeping from Dean. There would be time for that later.

The Winchesters had been lucky today, which for them was saying a lot. They escaped suspicion, Dean got the medical attention he needed and Sam had managed to bolster the diminishing prescription strength pain killers in the First Aid Kit. He rattled one of the bottles in his left had, the name Samuel L. Clemens typed neatly along the label made him chuckle a little.

_Why can't people see the obvious?_ he wondered.

He shook the bottle in his hand, as if to reassure himself that the medicine was there by hearing the rattle. Sam felt a little dishonest holding the Percocet in his hands, but he knew they needed it for emergencies. Sam had had to do a little acting \ and tell one or two white lies to get it. Fortunately, it had been easy enough. Sam knew more than his fair share about concussions to fake a few symptoms and get a sympathetic doctor to write him the script.

Yes, Sam had been lucky.

Dean? Not so much.

Unfortunately, Dean managed to escape this entire situation with the worst of it. Sam had winced when the doctor showed them the x-ray of Dean's leg. Dean, on the other hand, just closed his eyes and flopped his head back into the cheap hospital grade pillow they had given him in complete defeat. Any color that had returned with the medley of fluids laced with liquid pain killers being force fed into his system through the IV quickly rushed out of his face, but his trademark tough guy mask slid back into place perfectly.

After that, Dean had been dealt another hand in the exciting game of good news/bad news. The good news had come in three (debatable) forms, the first being that the fracture was a clean break that could be reset without surgery. More good news followed in the form of location. The break was pretty much an even split between knee and ankle meaning a cast was the only thing necessary for a complete recovery. Better yet, it wouldn't have to stay on any longer than 12 - 14 weeks at most.

Dean had blanched at this news, but Sam had been elated. For such a big break on a bone that took all of the human body's weight? That was nothing!

Unfortunately, the bad news had come in the form of Sam almost losing his hand as they reset his brother's leg with only a healthy helping of liquid morphine.

The emergency doctors had given the older Winchester the option of staying the night and taking care of the break under local anesthesia in the morning, but Dean had wanted out of that hospital more than anything.

They had brought in a few doctors, immediately putting the injured hunter on edge.

He had gripped the side of his bed when they began poking at the swollen shin with more gusto than before; Dean had adamantly refused his brother's hand because it was an "overly emotional, chick-like need to…OH GOD! DON'T TOUCH IT!"

Sam's hand, snatched up in Dean's iron grip without a second thought, was stark white when they were finished and Dean was barely coherent when they had started wrapping his leg in plaster...

…conveniently leaving Sam in charge of the color of the waterproof layer of his brother's cast.

Dean was _so_ getting his just desserts for that little shaving cream stunt. …and the Metallica wake-up call before that.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, startling his brother into a sitting position, as he hauled himself in through the motel door.

"Yea, Dean?"

His words were much more coherent as he calmly asked, "Why's my cast pink?"

A mischievous smile grew on Sam's face and he began to chuckle. Dean blinked a few times before his glassy green eyes sparked angrily and he understood what was going on.

_Payback's a bitch._

"Oh. You're an ass," he said with an undeniable note of anger after a brief pause. He grimaced and shot his brother an evil glare as he pulled himself towards his bed.

"Yea? Well you're a jerk," Sam said, placing a nice little kick on the k of his last word. He cleared his throat only to throw a little more fuel on the fire, "Don't worry. I hear women just _love _aman in pink."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean ground out in frustration.

Using his spiffy new crutches to carry himself around aggravated his ribs even _with_ pain killers keeping the burning pain at bay. He could only imagine how it would feel once the good stuff wore off.

Reaching his destination, Dean lowered himself onto the lumpy surface of his motel bed. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and a cocky smile tugged at his lips, "You think that Sarah chick from the diner likes pink?"

Sam shot his brother a look that hovered between amusement and disgust. Leave it to Dean to think of some hot little number even after literally sitting down for the first time in his own bed after a trip to the ER.

"Really, Dean?" Sam asked.

"What? Gettin' busy releases endorphins, right, college boy?" Dean nagged, "Doesn't that reduce pain?"

Sam blinked at his brother before he said, "I'm surprised you even know that. Or that you remember our waitress's name even _was_ Sarah for that matter."

Dean smirked as he carefully balanced his crutches against the wall near his bed. His face hardened in concentration as he hooked his right foot under the scratchy surface of his left ankle to pull his casted leg onto his bed. He smiled when his little plan worked and leaned against the pile of pillows that were still there from the night before. Satisfied and truly exhausted, Dean let out a breath as the dim light of the room danced merrily in his vision.

"You alright?" Sam asked tentatively. He could sense that the time for joking was over.

"Dude, whatever they gave me," Dean said groggily, turning to look at his kid brother, "makes _everything_ alright."

Or not.

Sam smiled, knowing Dean would be in a world of hurt when that stuff wore off. He picked up the other bottle of pills and read the label with curiosity; his brother's fake name, Tim Clemens, stamped across the top proudly.

Oh yes, this was _definitely_ going to be a fun 2 weeks with his brother.

"Then you'll love what they gave you for when that crap wears off," Sam replied.

A yawn escaped Dean's lip and he blinked heavy lids in Sam's general direction. His voice was softer than normal when he said, "Mmm?"

"The street name is Tylox," Sam responded.

"'Kay," Dean responded with a hint of a question in his tone. He snuggled back into his pillows and let his eyes drift closed. He didn't really see how that was exciting.

"Dean, this is a mix of prescription strength Tylenol and, get this," Sam said, putting the bottle on the table between their beds, "_Oxycotin."_

"There _is_ a God," Dean declared with a sincere smile lighting up his face. He couldn't find the energy to open his eyes.

"And his name is Tylox?" Sam asked, running with the joke.

"Damsdraight," Dean replied beginning to slur his words together again.

Sam shook his head, incredibly grateful that this disaster was over. He had to admit, it was nice not having to do any clean up on this hunt. Actually, it was nice to have had the whole situation resolve itself with only a little involvement.

It was just too bad that that minimal involvement had caused the Winchesters to commit insurance fraud once again.

* * *

**A/N:** And so concludes my first ever attempt at a SPN fanfic! I hope you all enjoyed it!  
Thanks so much to all of you that read and reviewed! Coming back to your comments gave me a reason to finish this!

xoTrebleMaker

**PS:** Anyone that can tell me what's so "obvious" about Sam's pseudonym from the epilogue will win a SPN story with a topic of their choice from yours truly! The _**first**_ correct answer I get will win. (Reviews/messages come with time stamps!) Good Luck!


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